A Deal With The Devil
by N.J. Egan
Summary: "you want me, then you should know something, I come with a price". a fitting moniker for Susan Smith, agent 005 of the British Secret Service. Coerced into the service by M, Susan is given her first major assignment to team up with 007 and stop a terror group from acquiring nuclear weapons, a conspiracy involving the ruthless Marathon corporation and its CEO Michael Wolchik.
1. Chapter 1

Susan Smith 005: A Deal With The Devil

Disclaimer

I wish to point out that I don't own the copyright to the James Bond universe. This work is entirely fictional. Also there is also some language use and themes in this story which some may find offensive. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as i have enjoyed writing it.

Sincerest thanks

egors007

CHAPTER 1

_Briton in Basra_

To the victors, the spoils of war bring few joys, even less to a secret warrior and even much less again to a woman. Such was true of the daily lives of the men and women of the third battalion of the Royal Highland Fusiliers in Basra, Iraq's second largest city. Susan Smith, a trained warrior for Britain's Secret Intelligence Service, knew this daily reality all too well.

It was after seven in the evening and it was time for a nicotine fix, one of the many she took during the day. She had been a twenty-a-day plus smoker until she gave up at the age of twenty but she found herself back on them again since assigned to Iraq, and she had every reason to be.

She exited the military style hut that served as her base of operations in Basra in order to light one up, and climbed the ladder on to the sentry platform to get a bittersweet glimpse of the landscape over the perimeter wall. A soldier on duty there greeted her enthusiastically. Susan was popular amongst the men. Everyone knew who she was but didn't dare to ask to her about her profession.

As she took a welcome drag, her eyes awakened to a beautiful picture postcard vista of a Mesopotamian desert at sunset. It was almost as if the sky had spilt its beautiful purple-orange haze out on to the land amidst the backdrop of a bright yellow-orange setting sun. Yet still, it did little or nothing to comfort her. For it was at around this time that all the jackals come out to play, namely human ones with mortars and rocket-propelled grenades.

The base where she operated out of used to be an old Republican Guards' barracks from the Saddam days. MI6 had their Iraqi station there, station B, Basra, and attacks by insurgents were quite common in the evenings and at nighttime. The soldiers on the day shift often joked that you could still sleep soundly during an attack despite the din because the perimeter walls were so thick.

Operation Iraqi Freedom was a war fought by the military and numerous agencies on the ground, secret and otherwise, often working in collaboration with each other. It therefore made sense to locate Station B on the base for clandestine and security reasons. There was little to do to past the time in the evening, and Smith considered most of the MI6 people to be droll. Ordinarily it was a breach of protocol to mingle with military personnel, however there was another reason we she liked to hang out with them. They liked heavy music for a start, and it helped to make friends with the people tasked with coming to your rescue if you got into trouble.

On the premise of the efficient operation of Her Majesties' Armed Forces, the top brass strictly forbade drink on the barracks, and Susan loved nothing more than to blow off steam after dangerous missions with copious amounts of alcohol. Since there was none readily available, she'd be damned if she wasn't going to have some sort of a vice to tide her over until she got out of this mess of a war. It might as well be cigarettes, and maybe the occasional swig or two of hooch made from a contraband bottle of vodka kept by Private Moyes; an occasional flirt of hers in the regiment.

She welcomed with open arms anything that worked to calm the nerves. However working in a warzone was a different, often trying experience. The alternation between full-blown action and standard intelligence duties was beginning to wrack the nerves and after nine months here, she longed for nothing more than reassignment. She had been expecting a call from M, which was due to come that evening at around about seven thirty. She hoped that it was news she wanted to hear.

Sophie Telman, a young girl from Cheshire, was her trusted friend and colleague at Station B, and emerged from the hut to summon her. Sophie was a petite 5'4" girl with dirty blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her soft round face boasted a pair of black rectangular bifocals perched upon a small sharp nose. She was elegant looking in an intellectual sort of way. One could easily mistake her for looking like a teenage English _Au Pair _even though she was twenty-seven years of age. She was a geeky sort of girl, shy but very efficient at her job and became a good friend to Susan. She looked up to her, who in turn seemed to bring Sophie out of her shell during their time working together.

Sophie had been her intelligence officer for five months, and joined the secret service upon completion of her master's degree in Middle Eastern Policy studies from the University of Leeds, making her an apt choice for the Iraq assignment. She went out into the courtyard and called up to Smith in her usual cheerful tone.

"Video call, Susan. It's that time again".

"Thanks Soph, be down shortly", Smith replied, after which she took a few more heavy drags and hurriedly stomped the butt into the ground before climbing down from the platform.

She ventured back inside, and made her way down the aisle to her office. To either side of her there were a few standard intelligence people at computer terminals. They were still busy inputting today's intelligence data into Station B's extensive IT system. Some unwieldy and rather expensive servers situated at the other end of the room controlled the whole system. They managed the huge intelligence traffic to and from headquarters in London and the various Middle Eastern stations, including the major hub of Station T in Istanbul. Of course, Vauxhall Cross and GCHQ backed up all data as a precaution. It was an efficient and secure network to say the least, the very latest in the front line of the war against terror. Indeed, war in the 21st century had taken on a completely new meaning with information technology, but still the outcome in terms of human collateral was very much the same as it had always been.

The worst thing for Smith was that if she were to be killed, and came home to her family in a box draped in a Union Jack, the circumstances of her death would be shrouded in doubt. "How did it happen?" They would wonder; "was it quick?", or otherwise. Only MI6 would ever know the details.

Smith filed past Sophie's terminal on the way to her office.

"Good luck in there Susan. I hope its good news." She said in her inimitable Cheshire lilt,

"Thanks Soph, a transfer would certainly be bloody well appreciated about now, but knowing M she more than likely has other plans. Oh well, strong in the struggle as they say. See you later."

"Have fun." Sophie replied, and with that, Smith disappeared into the office and closed the door behind her.

Because she was one of the few designated by the service as a 00 agent, Smith had obligatory monthly direct call from her superior, M. As the head of service, M then directly reported the findings to the various government ministries. This was mainly a breakdown of cells infiltrated, foreign fighter activity, arms dumps seized, movement of arms in and around the city, members of Al Qaeda captured or killed, as well as taking care of the more unsavoury Ba'athist political remnants of Saddam regime, basically your normal day to day activity.

Naturally, there was the occasional casualty/collateral damage involved, which was why M always had a direct line. This was the most dangerous part of Smith's work. Very often, it involved her going into rough neighbourhoods, some of which were untamed by the military, dressed in a black abaya(the traditional black robe worn by Muslim women) and on a whim of intelligence. Her orders were to forge uneasy, sometimes-dangerous alliances with members of the various factions, which could be quite nerve wracking. These would be all kinds of lowlifes who harboured little respect for any form of humanity. Al Qaedafighters_, _volunteers from other neighbouring countries, and just about every other insurgent group that so happened to pique the British interest.

In the line of duty, she had to be prepared to go to any lengths to achieve her objectives in Iraq and when it came to making friends, the service wasn't particularly choosy. Sometimes to accomplish your goals in the intelligence business, you quite often had to make a deal with the devil. A common tactic used by MI6 in order to tackle terror cells was to recruit people from the inside for intelligence purposes or simply to just disrupt them by pitting them off against each other.

Much to Smith's distain, making such deals often involved sexual intercourse. Seduction was often part of the game when termination orders were issued for these men and once they got their jollies, slip them either a sly knife into the heart, a bullet from her silenced Sig Sauer P230, or perhaps a small vial of Ricin,(depending on the occasion). Then, as discreetly as possible slip out sideways without getting caught, no easy task at the best of times.

She almost got herself killed after an incident where she had been loaning her body out to one Hassan Al Faroud, a local warlord with Al Qaeda connections, all with the promise of him getting a British passport. The order was terminate with extreme prejudice as he had trained with key members of the 7/7 group in Afghanistan and was now stirring things up in Iraq. Smith had taken every precaution. She even drove a beat up, native Yugo around the city to blend in with the locals.

She arrived at his apartment one day, knocked on the door and he answered. She wore a veil and removed it to reveal her face to him. With the business done and the package delivered, he let her inside and led her upstairs into his bedroom, A Bedouin style rug was draped over the doorway, and an armed bodyguard sat outside the entrance on sentry duty, supposedly employed to keep a watchful eye out for the authorities. He often got his perverted sexual kicks by peeking through a small hole in the rug while his boss engaged in coitus with his female guests.

He peered through the rug as Faroud leaned in to kiss his latest conquest but she playfully pushed him away, then slowly and sensually started to undo her dress in front of him, stripping down to her underwear. He gleefully followed suit. She threw him a condom, accompanied by a look of disappointment on his face, as he had a reputation for liking it rough.

Still he complied in order to claim his tantalizing prize. Next, she lay on the bed. She undid her bra and he kneaded her naked breasts and abdomen with his teeth, grabbing a mouthful of black-laced panty and pulling downwards with his head until they were around her knees, then taking them off the rest of the way with his hands. He entered her and the two bodies became consumed in the heat of missionary sex that, thankfully for Smith, climaxed only after a few minutes, as he had thrust himself into her particularly hard.

A small piece of her soul just died in that instant. She felt violated, as well as emotionally and physically spent and immediately climbed out of bed and got dressed; her sense of compassion spent also. Still, he didn't suspect a thing. His appetite had been satisfied to such an extent that he took little notice of the fact that concealed in a buttoned flap in the front her abayawas her Sig Sauer and three grenades: one smoke, one flash and one live, a flimsy defence in a warzone.

She pulled the flap open, pulled out the silenced weapon and with considerable apathy, emptied a single 9mm parabellum round into his temple as he lay in bed. A spray of bloody matter geysered onto the headboard of the bed and Hassan Al Faroud was no more.

The guard outside caught a glimpse of the act firsthand and stormed into the room brandishing his Kalashnikov but was too late, and Smith plugged him between the eyes, sending his body hurtling out the door and crashing to the ground. She slung the abaya over her head and managed to get down the stairs and out the front door when she caught the eye of a diminutive looking young Arab thug armed with an equally diminutive AK-47 assault rifle who was lounging against a car outside on the street. He was most likely one of Faroud's. The obviously western face emerging from the abaya immediately caught his attention and he gave Smith a suspicious, demonstrative look as she walked past. She of course was hoping that it would all blow over and that he wouldn't try anything funny.

Her skin crawled briefly, when she noticed that he had gone inside, and with that, she decided it would be best to make for the Yugo just parked up the street as quickly as possible and get out of dodge as fast as its four wheels could carry her. She tried to act naturally, occasionally glancing back to see if she had been followed by anyone, and when the young man re-emerged from the building, (obviously having come across the bodies inside), he screamed some frenzied Arabic at his colleague across the street, his index finger frantically stabbing the air in Smith's direction.

Now it was clear that the game was up and she made a beeline for the Yugo. They managed to get off a few shots at her, but by then she had dived for cover in behind it. Without waiting for them to return her fire or reload, Smith hurled a whooping, powerful flash bang in between the two.

The momentary disarray created by the explosion was enough for her to respond with a riposte of shots from her P230, killing one of the men and wounding the other. Without waiting for any response, she got into her car as quickly as possible and sped off up the street. As she drove off, the wounded man lying on the flat of his back managed to pull himself together just enough to crack off a few shots at the car from his AK-47 as it sped by, one of which hit the windshield, barely missing her.

She'd never forget the experience, and would never like to repeat it again if possible. Nevertheless, this was what war was like; anything goes. Now with M calling, she would probably have to face an equally dangerous assignment. She had to contend that she had a purpose in MI6. She was good at it the kind of work they trained her to do, and it was better than being unemployed or winding up in jail, so better just buck up and get on with it.

Smith sat at her cheap desk, the kind of flat pack rubbish you'd buy at all the major furniture outlets, and unlocked her computer. She clicked into the video call icon on the desktop and noticed three missed calls from M. She was the kind of boss that frowned upon employees who weren't punctual but Smith didn't really care. The odd slip didn't worry her; she didn't give a damn. She could come up with the goods and that's all that mattered.

She clicked on M's contact address, clicked the call button and within seconds her superior's authoritative head with its messy grey-white pixie cut appeared on the screen soon after.

"Good evening 005." M said, in her usual icily formal tone. "I was wondering where you had got to. It's not a good thing to keep your boss waiting. I had to call miss Telman to fetch you. Company time is precious after all."

"Having a smoke ma'am, apologies"

"That's quite alright. What time is it over there Smith"?

"7.15 pm Ma'am," Smith replied.

"How are you finding it over there?"

"Well, the weather's not terribly humid at the moment, thank God. It was about 41°C today. It usually gets very sticky this time of year."

"I mean how are you finding the work?"

"Well thankfully I'm still alive Ma'am, although, to tell you the truth I'll be glad to get my feet on home soil".

"Well, don't you worry," M said reassuringly "according to the PM we should be out of Iraq altogether within the next four months, thanks, no doubt, in part to your brilliant efforts and others like you. We've managed to rid the country of most of the major terrorist influences to the point where the Iraqi authorities can take control of their own destiny. At least that's something good that we can pull out of this, don't you agree?"

Smith disregarded the remark as hogwash in her mind. For a moment there, M sounded like a bloody politician. She knew the reality was somewhat different, but still realizing it was her superior, decided to be more diplomatic in her response.

"I don't know Ma'am; I wouldn't be so quick to judge based on what the politicians say. The Iraqi security forces are far from competent. Promotion within their ranks is still based on social and community standing rather than hard graft, and to be honest I don't think they're capable yet. We opened a can of worms we shouldn't have, I'm afraid".

M took Smith's point on board grudgingly, but at the same time had no other choice than to secretly agree.

. "Yes, well, deliver your report 005".

"Yes ma'am". Smith said feeling slightly affronted. "The al Qaeda member Al Faroud has been taken care of as requested. Sophie Telman is drawing up the file as we speak. We infiltrated a local gang that was planting IED's on Highway 6 by bribing the local sheikh. We also managed to convince him to help us get rid of a certain group of Jordanian fighters under Al Faroud as well, killing two birds with the one stone, I guess. We also got wind of a few arms dumps as well, which we confiscated as part of a joint Iraqi security force operation, overall a positive outcome all round."

"Good, 005, good, I look forward to having your report in writing. No worse off for the experience I trust".

"No Ma'am".

M took in a breath through her nostrils and let it out in an abrupt puff of air. She took a swig from her bourbon, which immediately set off a pang in Smith's mind. Smith sensed there was something on M's chest that she badly wanted to get off, and then she came out with it.

"Are you familiar with a group called the _Flaming Sword,_ 005?"

"Can't say that I am ma'am, why"? Smith replied.

"I'm sending you an email with a link embedded in it. See for yourself."

Smith minimized the window and went directly for her email inbox and clicked send/receive. The email came and she opened it and clicked the link. It was a to an Islamist website. Her eyes immediately scanned the message darting across the top of the webpage from right to left. It appeared to be verses of the Quran but it was not in Arabic; the characters were wrong. She had learned to read Arabic while on tour, but apart from that, it appeared to be a genuine site.

She played the flash video embedded in the site. A man dressed in an ayatollah's garb approached the camera and spoke in what appeared to be Persian. A voiceover in English, dubbed over the Persian translated the following words.

"_This is a message from the Brotherhood of the Flaming Sword of Allah to the corrupt western powers of the Anglo-American empire. We wish to claim full responsibility for the attack on the British Embassy in Mombasa, and are happy to announce that the Flaming Sword is now a nuclear power. If you persist in your blatant, unconditional support of the Zionist murder state of Israel, and continuing UN sanctions against our country, we will be forced to use our technology on the United States of America or the United Kingdom. We demand also that the on going U.S./British Naval activity in the straits of Hormuz be halted at once. We will accept terms of your surrender within one month in a manner to be designated by us. If you surrender, you will be spared, for it is written, "__And slay them wherever ye find them, and drive them out of the places whence they drove you out, for persecution is worse than slaughter but if they desist, then lo! Allah is forgiving and merciful." End communication."_

Smith sat back aghast. She puffed her cheeks and let out a long breath of air in disbelief of the enormous conviction of the man in the video. She closed down the website and maximized the video call window.

"What exactly happened Ma'am?" She asked.

"Our Embassy in Mombasa was blown up, 105 people dead, 30 more in hospital with acute radiation poisoning; we believe it was a radiation dispersal device".

"You mean a dirty bomb".

"Yes, 005, the first terror attack using one, and we now have intelligence to suggest that they, and by they I mean Iran, have the capability to put a dirty bomb in the warhead of a missile. God only knows what will happen if they actually develop one."

"Who are these guys ma'am?" Smith asked.

"Apparently they're a new group that only just came under our radar last year. We believe they are made up of certain Iranian elements that financially sponsored and armed Hezbollah in Lebanon and Al Sadr in Iraq. We believe they may be the result of an attempt to amalgamate all the Shia Islamic republican factions of the Middle East. It was believe that they were responsible for much of the fighting in Southern Lebanon with Israel two years ago, but up until now, we've never had reason to suspect them going nuclear. The chap in the video is their leader, Ayatollah Sayyid Mizrahi. Of course, we've arranged a total media blackout. Just think of the headlines, Iranian Islamists capable of nuclear terror. God if this got out imagine the chaos."

Smith replied gingerly. "I don't know ma'am. It all sounds rather far-fetched. The Shias are only really threatening when they're threatened. They can be deadly when crossed but they don't usually look for a fight, at least not in the same sense as the other factions that I've come across, such as Al Qaeda and the like. I don't believe it. There's something more to this than meets the eye."

M fired back an icy retort. "Well you had better start believing, hadn't you Smith, because there's a shit storm coming our way. The PM and the foreign secretary are screaming for action, and our fleet is at full war readiness and on its way to the straits of Hormuz willing to rattle the sabre at Iran at all costs if those responsible aren't turned over. Christ, the cold war, was like a kid's game of checkers in comparison to this."

After her tirade, M let out a dejected breath through her mouth and made straight for the glass of bourbon. She took a big gulp of the golden brown liquor and in one swallow downed the contents of the glass to the last drop.

"And how can I be of service Ma'am?" Smith asked.

"We have one lead thankfully, one Ali Abd-al-Hamid, a former Iraqi intelligence source: Codename Godsend."

"I've heard of him. His name came up as a local gunrunner a couple months back. Rodgers, head of our station B Basra personally handled the case. I wasn't given full clearance as to the nitty-gritty details but I do know that he was singled out as helping to arm local insurgents. It was a case of take a deal or risk being handed over to the Americans to be worked up at Guantanamo Bay after the handover. A strange sort of a way to handle a local gangster if I may say so. Anyway I think that's about all, why do you ask?"

"Well, 005. It just so happens that our Mr. Al-Hamid went double for Iran in the 80's during the Iran/Iraq war. He worked as a nuclear chemist at the Abu Mazin nuclear plant outside Baghdad that was built by the Soviets for Saddam in the early years of his reign. It was believed that a secret research facility was on the site of the plant; radiological weapons research. At the time the Russians were very interested in manufacturing radioactive caesium chloride, and our Mr. Hamid was one of the scientists attached to the University of Basra in charge of developing a process for refining it and converting it into a form that can be easily handled for use in weapons."

"Sorry ma'am but science was never my strong suit. I've never been briefed on caesium chloride weapons."

"Well then 005 allow me to enlighten you. Radioactive caesium is the by-product of nuclear fission. It's commonly found in spent uranium fuel rods used in conventional nuclear reactors. Treated with hydrochloric acid, it can be converted into radioactive caesium chloride. Our scientists estimate that if as little as two grams were distributed in a conventional explosion in say Trafalgar Square, it would increase the terminal cancer rates in the Greater London area to at least 1/100 people, possibly even greater, not to mention the widespread panic. The clean-up operation alone would break the city. It could make the inner city area virtually uninhabitable for at least a decade."

Normally prohibited from smoking in the office, Smith gave into her nerves and lit one up. She tried to act as if she hadn't have been landed the biggest case of her career.

"So what's the deal with this Hamid guy?" She asked, as she took a heavy drag.

"We have a bit a history with Hamid. You see he took off in a hurry after the Iranian offensive on Basra, Operation Ramadan. Hamid is Shia Muslim by birth. His family was killed by the regime during Saddam's purge, after he initially refused to work for them. Iranian intelligence approached him to smuggle atomic secrets out of Abu Mazin for their own nuclear program.

During the conflict we considered the Ayatollah to be the more dangerous of the two dictatorships, and as a result, ended up funding and providing Saddam's intelligence apparatus with technology for communications and surveillance; an unfortunate fact of life that would come back to haunt us later on."

"Hence the reason my job here is so bloody difficult here," Smith said

"Nobody's perfect Smith, certainly not our government. Anyway, we managed to snatch him before the Mukhabarat; the Iraqi Secret Service could. He lived in Manchester for a while where we debriefed him. It turns out that he exaggerated much of his evidence; made some bogus claims that Saddam was building a mobile factory for making portable nuclear devices."

"But of course it was all bullshit. No WMDs were found in Iraq, ma'am. At least not to my knowledge"

"Precisely 005: we investigated the claims but they turned out to be fruitless. The sanctions Iraq was under at the time made it impossible to fund large-scale nuclear research and at the time the Soviets, who built the plant, were having their own problems. It was abandoned just before Hans Blix arrived for the first inspections in '03 but we had enough to convince our respective governments to go to war. Most of the reason why we invaded in the first place was because of Hamid's intelligence."

"Why I am not surprised ma'am? But then again I don't ask questions." Smith took another puff under the illusion that it would settle the unease. "What happened then?" She asked.

"He returned to Iraq after the invasion, where he and his cousin Abdullah, a dealer in illegal fuel helped to arm a local insurgent group, the Mehkdi martyrs, based on Al Sadr's group in Baghdad. It's possible they will have an Iranian connection. Abdullah was arrested by the Basra authorities for his activities. Hamid has been in discussions with the local sheikh, a chap named Alzahabi in order to bail him out. "

"Hence the deal with Rodgers, no wonder you wanted to keep him off the radar. Do you reckon he has some information on this _Flaming Sword_?" Smith asked.

"That's what you have to find out, 005. In fact, he just so happens to live in the Al Hadi district of downtown Basra. Given his past, it's possible he will have been approached by them. There are connections between certain Iraqi elements and the sale of nuclear materials that the boys in counter-proliferation are looking into. We have our eye on one Masood Khoury; an Iraqi Christian national and a senior partner in an arms firm called SITCO. He's well known amongst the entire Islamist community from Baghdad to Kabul: a travelling sales representative of sorts. We have reason to believe that he may be using Hamid as a subject matter expert in order to teach certain undesirable elements in Iran how to handle caesium chloride for making dirty bombs. No stone is left unturned."

"Hmm, sounds like there's a huge subplot going on that I'm not supposed to know about. Before I risk life and limb, are you sure there isn't anything else I need to know about ma'am?" Smith asked.

"Concentrate on Mr. Hamid first 005, that's all you need to know for now." M affirmed, "You must arrange to meet him, but it's too late in the day. Brigadier Johnson has his direct line. Ask Ms. Telman to set it up"

"Will do, ma'am".

"Eyes only, 005, find out anything you can about _Flaming Sword_ before it's too late. Use all reasonable discretion necessary to get Hamid to reveal his contacts. I'm afraid we have not much to go on. Share this with no one for the time being, not even Ms. Telman. Understood?"

"Crystal clear ma'am," Smith replied.

"It's best that you have a cover, just to be on the safe side should anything happen to you. You'll go as Samantha Brunel; officially down as an inspector working for the International Atomic Energy Agency."

Smith knew very well that a cover in this case was just an official way of disavowing any action in the press should she be killed or captured. The service had a knack for that sort of thing, hence the extensive network of fictitious companies it employed such as Universal Exports that were all legitimate on paper, for in the words of the 00 section's founder Sir Ian Lancaster Fleming; nothing deceives more like a document. Smith, albeit hesitantly, agreed to take on the assignment. With that, M wished her good luck and ended the call.

Smith paused for a moment, and contemplatively drummed her fingers on the desk.

This assignment was a big one, probably the biggest in months, bar the QUANTUM case that her colleague James Bond had been working on since the incident in South America a few months earlier. This was a huge case in which a certain private group of well-placed international figures in the world of business and intelligence banded together to try to overthrow the Bolivian government.

Trying not to think about the potential migraine she had for an assignment, she logged out of the program. Her desktop wallpaper displayed a picture of Eddie, the mascot of British heavy metal band Iron Maiden. She apologized to it as she shut down the computer, got up off her chair and made for the door. She opened it halfway and poked her head out at Sophie.

"Soph can you come in here a minute please?" She said, and with Smith's request, Sophie enthusiastically got up from her station and followed her into office.

"Soph, what do you know about an Ali Abd-al-Hamid?" She asked.

Sophie paused for a moment trying to recall the name.

"Ali Abd-al-Hamid? Ah, yes. Rodgers handled it, as I recall. I don't have all the details but rumour has it that he cut some deal with us in exchange for immunity. They say he is like the local godfather, into the black market in a big way. Food, petrol, you name it; anything that will make him a profit. He owns a café in the city the _Ya Dallah _club. I believe it's in the Al Hadi district."

"Thanks Soph." Smith replied.

"Is everything ok?" Sophie asked.

"Yes, fine Soph, thanks. But I'm afraid the case is eyes only for the moment."

"Oh, nothing dangerous I hope"?

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine". Smith said, "I've got to meet Brigadier Johnson this evening to arrange a meeting with him".

"You will be careful Susan now won't you?"

"Alright Soph, I promise", and with that, Sophie wished her a sincere good luck and went back to her terminal.

Smith went outside the makeshift headquarters, pulled out her pack of Marlboro Gold, and extracted a much-needed cigarette. She lit it, inhaled deeply, and locked her jaw, blowing out the smoke in rings. She smoked it down to near the butt, and then flicked it away from her.

Parched, she pulled out a bottle of water she had with her, unscrewed the cap, and took a few generous swigs to cool herself in the dry evening heat before heading off in the direction of her sleeping quarters.

Smith was fortunate to have her own room in the barracks that was located where the old Republican Guard officer's quarters had been. She had neatly converted it into a sort of one bedroom apartment complete with her own bathroom, single bed, wardrobe and a table where she had her own laptop; and of course, a mirror and various sundry items that she used to make herself up.

She took a long shower, dried her long silky brunette hair then sat at the table wearing nothing but a towel around her slender body to do her make up.

She was a beautiful, intensely sensual woman whose almost gothic good looks brought out a subliminal animal attraction in men, likened to one of those perfect Hollywood starlets you see in so many vampire and fantasy movies.

Her skin was a soft, pale complexion. Her mouth was dainty with full red lips that were perfect for passionate kissing. She had a long, straight nose, sensually curved upwards at the nostrils slightly, and her soft grey blue eyes were windows to the soul that aroused the libido of any man lucky enough to gaze upon them.

Nevertheless, behind her beauty was a soul that was damned, for it was true that Susan was eye candy but she also had a deadly side. God forbid you happened to be the mugger or the rapist who wished to make improper advances towards her on the street, for she'd snap your neck in two seconds flat with the strength of a lioness.

Indeed, Susan was not to be trifled with, however she often thought about how she got into this dirty business in the first place. Why couldn't she have had just a normal life, finish college and become a solicitor or a business executive instead?

Susan Smith was born in Cambridge on the 14th of December 1978 to Peter Smith and Agnes Smith nee Andrzejewski, who was the daughter of Polish immigrants who had survived the Holocaust. The original name of Susan's mother was Agniezska but she changed it to the more anglicised form by deed poll when she was eighteen. It was an attempt to distance herself somewhat from her parents' harrowing experience at Auschwitz.

She longed for the English upper middle class lifestyle, and married Peter Smith, an insurance company manager at the tender age of twenty-one in 1975. Over the coming years, they had two daughters, Susan (b. 1978) and Anne Smith (b. 1980).

By the time the girls were very young, Peter Smith had turned out to be an increasingly violent and controlling man who frequently abused Agnes, and put her in hospital on two occasions. The first time was with broken ribs, when he kicked her mercilessly and repeatedly in the chest and stomach while she was down on the ground. The second time was when he fractured her left cheekbone after hitting her hard across the face with an iron.

By the time Susan turned seven, Agnes whipped up enough courage to take her and the kids to a Women's Aid shelter, where she got legal advice. She divorced Smith in 1985 and got a barring order out against him. The crown court denied his appeal for custody of the children.

With the help of some friends, Agnes got a job with a travel agent in London in 1987 after spending two years on welfare. It was a meagre existence bringing up two kids, especially during the Thatcher years. She never re-married. Agnes had always been a devout Catholic since she married, and vehemently made it a point to ensure her children would grow up in the faith.

These traumatic and often unsettling experiences forced the young Susan to spurn the influences of her parents in search of order and a sense of belonging.

Her mother wanted her to pursue a career in business and at the time, she found the study of marketing to have the most appeal. Whilst at Judge Institute for Management Studies in Cambridge University, she came across a recruitment stall looking for to sign up women officers into the Bootnecks, the British Royal Marines, and in 1997, after only two years, Susan dropped out of business school to join the Commando Training Centre at Lympstone, much to her mother's disdain.

Susan was a born soldier and leader… It was a tough and arduous sixty four weeks, but she managed to get through it, and graduated at the top of her class becoming one of the first female officers to graduate in the Marines, rising to the rank of First Lieutenant.

Unfortunately, for her, women were not allowed to serve in combat divisions of the Marines. Most women end up in the Royal Marines band. However, Susan showed considerable aptitude for combat intelligence analysis, and got a job at the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom as an intelligence officer for the units on the ground in Iraq. Her job was to handle sensitive information for the troops, compile detailed maps, process the details of infrastructural developments undertaken by the military (building wells, schools, etc.) and, keep low level intelligence files and data on tribal leaders, local guides, suspected insurgents and so forth .

While there, she began an affair with Sarah Davies, a Marine NCO in the office, which lasted three months in secret. That was until the two were caught being intimate with each other by a male co-worker in a local nightclub. Smith knew she was bisexual for years but hid it until she met Sarah, who acted, as the perfect vent for her often-stifling existence, as coming out is not easy for anyone.

Traditional institutions tend to be slow to understand such things, and the Marines tended to frown upon homosexuality. At the time, it was still a court martial offence; made worse by the fact that the pair were working with sensitive government information that made its way onto the internet. Sarah was responsible and before their love affair was exposed, Susan had perjured herself in front of a military court in order to protect her from sedition charges.

Exposure of their affair made things worse, and the Marines interred her at Berechurch military correctional facility in Essex, where they threatened to send her to Belmarsh prison in order to serve time for perjury to the crown and homosexual offences if she didn't cooperate. It was just Smith's luck however that MI6, who background checked all the candidates in the office had her file. In addition, it just so happened that M, the head of service, was on the lookout for 00 operative candidates at the time. Smiths file stood out instantly; good looking, black belt in Taekwondo and mixed martial arts, graduated top of her class at Lympstone, educated in marketing (the ability to sell and play the con artist being a skill much lauded after by MI6) and also basic experience of intelligence, and moreover; a weakness that they could take advantage of.

It was a simple choice: face the embarrassing public fallout of an official career destroying court martial, or live a life of action she always dreamed of, albeit in a secret capacity. Smith took the MI6 deal gladly, and in return, they kept her name out of the press. By that time, she had risen to the rank of Captain, and they allowed her to keep her Bootneck credentials for official service purposes provided she accepted a demotion back to Lieutenant.

Choosing the Secret Service would not be an easy option. Her first assignments were in Iraq. She would have the unfortunate distinction of being a honey trap to some very nasty people, and then earn those coveted two zeros by abruptly ending their lives. The sheer thought of having to kill another human being coupled with allowing bad men to use her body made her uncomfortable.

It had to affect her in some way and now those same thoughts came back to haunt her as she looked in the mirror. All of a sudden, the gung-ho attitude she had when she first joined the military didn't seem to matter anymore. She was now a veteran of war, scarred, yet good at what she did and she had to contend that this was all she knew. It was just a question of taking the positives out of the situation and promising herself she'd come out alive.

Smith was somewhat of an agnostic but disliked the use of the term. She simply didn't know or couldn't prove conclusively that there was a God, and had no interest in doing so. At the same time, she was deeply spiritual, not afraid to offer an occasional prayer when needed. She found that the odd affirmative prayer centred her, probably a throwback from the days when regular Sunday mass and confessions to cranky old repressed men were obligatory. Through her martial arts training, she became attracted to Zen and its core concept of mindfulness; the idea of living in the present moment, and occasionally practiced the meditation of Vipassana (following the breath).

Smith changed into a casual number: light khaki slacks and a matching sleeveless top, and proceeded to brigadier Johnson's office. He was a handsome middle-aged man built like a modern professional rugby player, with grey hair in a crew cut, slightly tanned skin, and chiselled facial features. Smith liked him, as he was an efficient officer and a genuine down to earth guy with the benefit of good looks and charm.

Smith got to talking about meeting Abd Al Hamid and he obligingly agreed to set it up. Johnson insisted that she have back up from the military and the police and Smith agreed, provided it was discreet.

On a more sociable note, Johnson asked if Smith would like to join him in the officer's hut for a game of poker at around 8:30. British officers had to have their leisure time and Smith said she'd be delighted.

That evening, they played cards. The game was five card stud; a mugs game according to Smith, who preferred the more defined probabilities of Texas Hold 'Em, and having done ok, decided to quit for the night at around 11:00 before the game could get into more serious money.

The following evening at 6:30, Smith changed into more business-like attire. She wore a bulletproof vest in the peace-blue colour of international officialdom over her blouse, which was slightly uncomfortable to wear but she wasn't complaining. She concealed her weapon in a secret compartment in the vest in a place that was readily available to her in case of trouble. She threw a white scarf around her head into a sort of _Hijab_, and then donned her designer sunglasses. She looked more like the wife of a millionaire from Cannes or Monaco. She deliberately wanted to stand out as an international official so that Hamid would take the meeting more seriously. Normally, Iraqis tended to frown upon women in bars, particularly Muslims in full dress. By 6:50pm, she was ready and proceeded to the motor pool where her car had been parked.

Thankfully, the Yugo had a tape deck so she could plug in her cassette adapter for her iPod. She got into her car, plugged it in, flicked her thumb briskly across the touch screen and selected an album. It was Pantera's _Cowboys From Hell. _Smith was a huge rock and metal fan. Tool, Deftones, Carcass, Mastodon, Slayer, Metallica; she loved them all. Some of the troops psyched up on metal before going out on dangerous missions, and having felt the beginnings of performance nerves starting to kick in, Smith decided to follow suit.

As the eponymous track belted out through the speakers, Smith started up the engine. She proceeded out the main gate, sped onto the highway and into the city.

38


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

_Godsend_

As Susan Smith journeyed closer into the city of Basra, she thought to herself that at least there was one thing you could give credit to Saddam for, and that was the cracking good roads in Iraq. They rivalled that of the Autobahns of Germany, or the winding mountain Autostrades of Italy where so many millionaires loved to jubilantly test out their new Ferraris.

It seemed a shame then to deposit such inferior motor vehicles on them. The country should have had a lot more going for it given the fact that its wealth once rivalled that of the more prosperous nations in the region, such as Bahrain or the United Arab Emirates. It could easily do so again but for now it was a case of recovery after the years of strife and tyranny under Saddam, not to mention of course the intervention of years of dubious western sanctions.

For years, the region held the promise of power and massive wealth. Is it any wonder that great empires sprouted from here, the Assyrians, Babylonians and Sumerians to name but a few. Empires could come and go and be they British, Soviet or American, the region would never lose its charms, or potential.

Despite the political veneer of promoting western style democracy in the Middle East, from an economic standpoint, Iraq had a unique triple threat. The Tigris and Euphrates river systems were an important piece of infrastructure. The Siemens's of this world had always wanted to expand on that for massive profits. The most obvious, lucrative petroleum industry was enough to drive speculators wild with anticipation and crazy rich, if you knew how to play the futures market.

Finally, the location in relation to other states made Iraq a massive commercial trading hub with its own highly developed port system, overall a military industrial Mecca. Yes, whoever controlled Iraq wielded huge power over the region. However, there was one thing they could not control, and that is human nature.

To overthrow oppression naturally means breeding a power vacuum in society and the vacuum is filled by the creation of factions clamouring for control, leading to the twin ugly monsters of civil war and general mayhem.

Smith tried to put the Prime Minister and the President's ignorance of this fact out of her mind. The allies already kicked the hornets' nest and she was called in to exterminate, at least that's all she knew.

What did it matter to her if the world revolved around fat, cigar smoking, country club elitists, or whether they lined the pockets of political campaigns come election time. There had to be room for everyone. After all, without them we wouldn't have the marijuana smoking, new world order conspiracy nuts (whose ideas of the world amused Smith), or minimum wage tax-screwed jobs, or terrorists to track down. All these variables gave the world a necessary vibrancy, a sense of roundness so to speak. You can't have one thing without the other, and to Smith's open mind people's opinions were just horses for courses. Besides, it's considered beneficial for the intelligence services to have a little, albeit deceptive level of transparency.

Miles of desert stretched out around her as she clocked 65mph on the highway. She drove past some oil refineries and petrochemical industries dotted sporadically along the road. She also past the burnt out remnant of an old Soviet made tank, undoubtedly one of Saddam's left there to rot, ravaged by the elements of the sun and sandstorms. It was a stark remainder of the recent history and the current tense atmosphere of war that had gripped this unfortunate country.

The base had been located rather inconveniently about 25 miles outside the city, and Saddam had made it a point to protect the oil fields after Kuwait, and sabotage them if necessary.

Smith now came to the main spaghetti junction outside the city and swung a left off route 31 for Baghdad road. The road was four lanes wide and choc a block with cheap, beat up 1980's Japanese Toyotas and Eastern European Ladas.

Smith always had her trusty sat-nav in tow with her, which she kept on the dashboard that allowed her to negotiate the busy roads and streets with ease. She couldn't get over the fact that there were so many bad drivers in Iraq. It seemed that everyone gave precedence to the local sheikh or imam when using the roads. She made it a point to drive confidently and fastidiously while stationed there. If there was one thing that made patrolling soldiers nervous, particularly the Americans were bad drivers. It gave them itchy trigger fingers.

It was a hostile environment where it was common for insurgents to take young teenagers and then threaten to kill their families if they didn't drive trucks full of explosives through checkpoints. These "proxy bombs" would then be detonated by remote control, an experience the British knew all too well in Northern Ireland.

Drive-by shootings were common particularly around the airport roads, not to mention the plethora of improvised explosive devices that littered the highways. Iraq, one of the most dangerous countries in the world

She got a bit of a fright when she tried to turn left at the junction up Trading Street. A rather thick-witted driver ran a red light and tried to cut across her to go left which narrowly led to a collision. She depressed a single furious honk of the horn. "Fucking idiot," she blurted in a single angry expletive, and the car reversed back so that she could complete her turn.

Proceeding up the massively long and wide street felt sort of like driving in downtown Los Angeles. Unlike L.A. a city noted for its ghettos, the streets were dirty and in desperate need of development which hadn't come in Saddam's time namely due to his persecution of the Shia population. The sun baked hovels that lined the streets were shabby and in desperate need of repair. They stuck out like eyesores polluting the horizon of the beautiful hazy blue evening sky.

A monotone, computerized female voice emanated from the sat-nav telling Smith to take the fourth exit left off Trading Street and into Al Hadi. Smith complied and proceeded up the narrow dusty street. She took a third right and after that, then a first left, leading into the street where the _Ya Dallah _Club was located.

She slowed down, took her eyes off the road for a second and peered out the windshield to see if she could spot the venue from across the street. Having briefly seen the hand painted door sign, which was in English and Arabic, she then proceeded to find a suitable parking spot.

She parked the car not far away from the club. Al Hadi had been a particularly rough area, regularly patrolled by the British army in conjunction with the Iraqi military and police. Bombings and shootings were quite frequent. She was lucky then that brigadier Johnson insisted that a small detachment of troops and Iraqi police be in the vicinity at all times for the duration of the meeting.

She was beginning to feel the butterflies kick in. That raw feeling of adrenaline started to course through her veins. As she sat in the car for a moment to compose herself, ugly thoughts raced in her mind. What would happen if they didn't take her seriously? What would happen if she overstepped the mark with this person and wound up dead on the street? It certainly wouldn't be unheard of for an operative wind up dead in Iraq. After all, she was a woman out of place in a misogynist part of the world.

With that, she offered a short affirmative prayer, reminding her self of her abilities and cunning and that always seemed to get her through. She had a small Saint Christopher's medal that her mother gave her before going to Iraq, which she hung superstitiously on her rear view mirror. She stashed away her IPod and sat nav into the glove compartment, and pulled out her Sig Sauer. She checked it, and satisfied that it was loaded she cocked it. She put on the safety catch, put it in the holster hidden inside her vest and climbed out of the car.

To Smith's mind, this neighbourhood had been ostensibly impoverished as she took in her surroundings. Apart from the ramshackle appearance of the streets and buildings, she noticed that the people were poor also. Sanctions and years of neglect under the regime no doubt.

A couple of children hung around the street close to the club. They were fooling around playing soccer with a ball that looked like it was made from a pig's bladder. There was also a hungry looking dog roaming the streets, scavenging for food.

Iraqis didn't have great enthusiasm for dogs and were often neglectful of them. She remembered how some of the troops brought a couple of stray pups home to the base one time. The hope was to train them to be guard dogs for warning against insurgents in exchange for an easy meal.

As she crossed the road, she got a couple funny looks from some old men sitting and sunning themselves at the tables outside the club. They gawked at the woman who was quite obviously western and who had just strolled into their neighbourhood? Smith paid no attention to them. They knew it was best not to invite trouble. They were harmless civilians as far as she was concerned, besides she had dealt with far tougher, more nefarious people during her time in Iraq, and knew that it was a slim possibility that they were potential spies for the local heavies.

As she walked in the front door of the club, a glorious smell of Shisha wafted through the air, charging her nostrils with an instant freshness. It emanated from a table to her left just inside the door, where a bunch of _kufiyah _wearing Arabs were sitting, socialising.

Smith couldn't get over how beautiful and clean the club was on the inside. Arches of distinctly Muslim architecture lined the walls. To her right there was a bar area where they served strong Arab coffee. Smith went over, sat at the bar, and ordered one. It wasn't exactly a drink but it hit the spot.

There was small stage where musicians played. The _Ya Dallah_ club was a traditional music venue. For this particular evening's entertainment, there was a three-piece band of _fez _wearing musicians in traditional Iraqi dress consisting of a _Darabuka_, an _Oud_, and an old Yamaha keyboard consisting of Middle Eastern string effects.

The band launched into a spirited Iraqi _Maqam,__ and a beautifully exotic noise emanated from the stage. Smith was enthralled by the music, listening attentively from the bar. She always had a genuine fascination for other cultures, especially for their music, and for a moment, she thought it was a shame that there was such avarice in world. She wondered what it might be like being a tourist in exotic places instead of a hired killer._

_ As she sat getting lost in the evening's entertainment, she caught a glimpse of an Arab man, dressed in traditional Bedouin attire emerging from the door to the back office. She deduced that he must be Alzahabi, the local Sunni Arab sheikh that M talked about, as he was accompanied by an officer from the Iraqi police. _

_Obviously, Hamid had timed their meeting so that whatever deal he made with him for the release of his cousin wouldn't coincide with her visit. Smith took little notice of him, it was none of her business, and she contended that Hamid wouldn't be stupid enough to make her presence known to him. Sunni and Shias in this part of Iraq had always been at each other's throats since the break up of the British Mandate of Mesopotamia in 1932, and didn't want to get involved, even though a part of her did feel that her country, in all fairness, had been somewhat responsible for the tensions. _

_Soon after Alzahabi's departure, a young Iraqi man with a boomerang shaped moustache that seemed to camouflage his upper lip, emerged from the backroom, walked up, and approached her. He was dressed in a white native robe and wore a __fez__, and by the look of him, he seemed to be a waiter at the club._

_ "Meez Brunel, I am Kareem. Welcome to the __Ya Dallah__ Club, Mr Abd-Al-Hamid will see you now". _

_"__Thank you" Smith said courteously, and followed him into the back room. The back room contained an office and there was a flight of stairs. It led to the top floor balcony of the apartment next door. Kareem led smith up the narrow stairs and when she got to the balcony there was Hamid, sitting down at a small coffee table with a backgammon board opened up in front of him. _

_He was a man in his late forties, stockily built but at the same time reasonably good looking for his age. He dressed stylishly yet casually, almost like a university lecturer, in a brown suede jacket, light khaki slacks and a finely pressed striped shirt that looked as though it was possibly a Saville Row or something expensive. _

_His dark hair was well groomed and nicely cut and his plump, olive-skinned face boasted soft facial features that gave him a handsome appearance. He had no moustache or facial hair of any kind and was clean-shaven. It was the eyes that captivated Smith and that, coupled with what she read in his dossier, led her to deduce that behind their easiness their lay great shrewdness or even a possible deceptiveness to his personality. This man could possibly be even charming, or worst yet, a manipulative con artist. _

_Backgammon, based on the ancient 'tables' family of games, is one the oldest board games in the world, and many variations are popularly played as a local pastime in the Middle East, often frowned upon by religious authorities in past centuries as being immoral and sometimes even subversive. Smith found this to be an interesting fact, as the smoky rooms from Beirut to Baghdad in which it is played are often the centres where many deals and alliances were forged, shady and otherwise. He had obviously been in the middle of a game with Alzahabi, and she could relate to the idea of a little bit of friendly strategic competition in much the same way as western businessmen treat golf. Hamid got up off his seat and greeted smith with considerable charm, kissing her hand. _

_"__Ah meez Brunel delighted to meet ju dear lady, pliz cam in."_

_"__Thank you Mr. Hamid". Smith replied, in a tone that acknowledged, yet was almost impervious to his charms. _

_ He was flanked by two wicked looking young heavies dressed in cheap tracksuits like American gangsters that he employed as bodyguards, and she considered the remote possibility that at any moment they could turn nasty. After all, the moniker amongst servicemen and women in Iraq is to be polite and be professional when dealing with local sources, yet at the same time, be prepared to kill anything perceived as a potential threat at a moments notice. _

_ Hamid invited her to sit across from him at the table and she complied._

_"__Con I get ju any refreshment Ms Brunel"_

_"__Nothing for me thank you"._

_"__Do you play backgammon meez Brunel?" _

_"__Haven't really played in years" Smith replied. "I only know Greek rules myself"._

_"__Ah ju hoven't experienced backgammon unless ju've played Arab style. Perhaps I can titch ju. I am a worthy opponent."_

_Smith cut the pleasantries and got down to business. "That's a very quaint idea but that's not what I came for Mr Hamid, now is it?"_

_ "Ah yees of course," he smiled and turned to his heavies "gentolmen I wondir if ju would be so kend as to leave us."_

_He glanced out of the corner of eye at the men as they left. It was as though he wanted to ensure that there were no witnesses present, so that any incriminating evidence against him could not be substantiated. With the men gone, he gave a charming, albeit misogynistic reply. _

_ "Ju are viry beautiful meez Brunel. Ju don't look like the sort of woman who should be involved in this surt of caper. Maybe ju should have been a secretary to some corporate executive no." _

_ "__I hate to disappoint you Mr Hamid", Smith replied "but to my mind you don't look the part either". _

_Hamid snorted a quick rebuff, which Smith largely ignored and took on the chin. _

_"__Tell me Mr Hamid how does a man live with himself knowing that his actions brought about a war that cost the lives of over a million of his countrymen and thousands of coalition troops?" _

_Hamid snarled back angrily. "It's well and good for a westerner to say that but while jur parents were taking ju to pony riding lessons my people were being tortured and murdered by Saddam. The Ba'athists killed my parents for simply being Shiite. When Saddam purged the country of opposition, he made my father shoot his own wife in cold blood. I did what I had to, to get rid of a tyrant."_

_"__I can't say my childhood was like that" Smith replied. "But anyway I haven't come to talk psychology Mr Hamid or show sympathy for any traumatic experiences or grievances you may have. I've simply come to ascertain any improper dealings with any undesirables that may be a danger to my people here, and while were here we still have clout, so it would be in your best interests to tell me anything you know; particularly about a group called __Flaming Sword__"._

_Amused by the notion, Hamid laughed in her face "__Flaming sword__! I think you hov been living in a fontosy werld meez Brunel." _

_Smith tried to puncture his amusement at the situation with some cold hard logic. "Not according to my superiors". She said, "They have reason to suspect that your knowledge of the Abu Mazin nuclear research facility made it into the hands of certain Iranian backed militias. That's a serious allegation; and one that we don't take likely. Now if you know anything it would be in your best interest to tell me."_

_"__Ah I see were ju're coming from Ms. Brunel. Ju are one of Rodgers people from MI6."_

_"__Who's Rodger's?" Smith said._

_ "__Don't play coy with me." He said, "I'm no fool, otherwise you wouldn't have got Johnson to set up this meeting."_

_"__I'm not obliged to reveal anything to you at this juncture" Smith replied "except to offer you our protection in exchange for information. Because let me you what tell you what will happen if you don't play ball Mr Hamid. You can kiss that cushy deal of yours with the authority's goodbye. I'm sure even though Saddam is gone the Iraqi security services wouldn't take too kindly to your whole fuel operation here, and something tells me you know a lot more than you let on to us. I'm sure that if they found out you were teaching the Iranians how to handle radioactive material as well supporting the Mehkdi Martyrs; the Americans would love to get their hands on you. They have a knack for extracting things out of people at Guantanamo bay. That's if the Iraqi's don't get there first. So, what's it to be?" _

_ . "Ju certainly are a persistent little beetch aren't ju." Hamid said. _

_ Smith shrugged off the insult. "Perhaps Mr Hamid but whether you like it or not you're __our __bitch. Now start talking"._

_ "Alright, alright!" He exclaimed, "I tell ju. I worked at Abu Mazin for 10 years. By the time, I left Iraq after the Iranian invasion of Basra I got to know some of Muqtada Al Sadr's people here in Basra. They have connections with Shia clerics who do some work for Iranian intelligence from time to time. As ju know they have wanted to develop a nuclear program for some time now, and I told the Iranians I worked at Abu Mazin, and helped develop the process that they used to refine radiological material. They suggested a trade-off of my expertise for money. Then your people snatched me."_

_ "Have you ever dealt with a Masood Khoury?" She asked. _

_ "I dun't recall that name, I'm surry." _

_"__Well that's interesting Mr. Hamid because we have surveillance footage and other evidence in our possession to suggest that you do."_

_Hamid became anxious "I have said too much. Probably more than I should, ju must gu now." _

_ "Just when things are getting interesting; I don't think so. Give me the names of your contacts". Smith said. _

_"__I con't. My life is in danger. Pliz I've said enough ju gu now."_

_"__Names". Smith said._

_ "__I con't". Hamid replied, exceedingly more anxious than before. _

_"__Who are you working for? Is it SITCO? If you tell me we can protect you". _

_"__No one can protect me from them. Not even ju". _

_-Then suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, a bright red third eye appeared in the middle of Hamid's forehead. The back of his head exploded violently, depositing an archipelago of red-brown goo on the curtains behind him._

_The sniper sprayed a hail of bullets in her direction but by then Smith promptly ducked for cover behind the balustrade, she pulled her weapon out of her holster and took the safety off, poised and ready for action. As she glanced through the balusters, out of the corner of her eye she could briefly see him darting across the roof of one of the buildings across the street. _

_She got to her feet and cracked off a few shots at the would-be assassin but they didn't land on target. She put her weapon back in its holster and immediately darted down the stairs in pursuit. _

_One of Hamid's henchmen heard the shots and raced up the stairs. He confronted Smith on the way up but before he could draw his weapon to get off a shot at her, she dropkicked him in the chest, sending his body hurtling down the stairs. _

_Smith hurriedly made her way through the club and out on to the street. As she crossed the road to get to the building on the other side, she narrowly escaped being knocked down. The car screeched to a halt in front of her, causing her to lose her balance and briefly stumble onto the bonnet. She pulled herself together quickly though, and proceeded to finish crossing the street, ignoring the driver, who got out waving his fist shouting some irate expletive in the Arabic language after her._

_She dashed through the door of the building, proceeded up the stairs, and exited out onto the roof with weapon in hand, poised to fire at any moment. Then, straight ahead, she could see the faint glimpse of the sniper about to jump off the building onto the street below. Smith shouted after the sniper. She scurried to catch up but by the time she got to the edge, it was too late. He had jumped off. _

_Soon after when she finally caught up, she stood at the edge of the building. She perused the crowd below for a glimpse of him, and there out of the corner of her eye, she saw him scurrying up the street to her left, mowing down any civilian that got in his way. _

_She holstered her weapon and leaped off the building onto the dumpster below her then onto the street in one great athletic swoop, and followed the assassin. At this point, he probably would have had just enough time to get rid of his rifle in the dumpster, and had chosen the perfect place to assassinate his target and be able to get out as quickly as possible. There was no doubt in Smith's mind that he was a professional. _

_He was fully aware that she was pursuing him, and with that, he turned around, drawing a pistol from his waist and cracked off a few indiscriminate shots at her. Smith dived in behind a parked vehicle and drew her firearm, reciprocating the deadly gesture. By this time, the civilians on the street were screaming and scurrying for their lives to get out of the line of fire. In the exchange of gunfire, he managed to disappear down an alleyway. However, Smith, being ever observant from behind her cover, saw the direction in which he took and followed him. _

_Down the alleyway, there was no sign of him and he appeared to have disappeared from view. She glanced around her, weapon in hand and held in safety mode, her body still coursing with adrenaline, scanning the alleyway up and down for a glimpse of her target. _

_Then suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, she was jumped from behind, caught in a strangle hold, powerless and defenceless. She could feel his iron grip restricting her breathing and if she didn't get out of it soon the life would eventually ebb out of her. Luckily, she remembered her martial arts training and turned her head in order to free herself from the fatal headlock. _

_Sufficiently free, she elbowed her assailant in the stomach, but he was strong and quickly recovered. He got to his feet and together they exchanged a series of punches and sidekicks, most of which were blocked successively by each opponent, until Smith landed a successful punch to the assassin's face. _

_As he recoiled, he pulled out a combat knife and attempted to slash her. She successfully dodged, delivering a potent sidekick to the abdomen, and sending him crashing to the ground. With that moment, she seized her opportunity to kill. She punched him in the joint between his upper and lower arm, causing him to relinquish his hold on the knife. With that, she grabbed it and gave one sharp stab to the thigh, perforating the Femoral artery. _

_He bled out internally because of the fatal deathblow, and within seconds, the life inside him ebbed away. Smith leant back against the wall exhausted. She took a few moments to catch her breath then got out her cell phone and immediately called Superintendent Adam Adebayo, a London metropolitan police officer and ex-redcap working with the local police force in Basra who came highly recommended by Brigadier Johnson. When he answered, there was a welcome reassurance in his voice. _

_"__Adebayo here?" he said _

_"__Hi this Sam Brunel, you know, the girl from the 3__rd__ Highlanders just out of town. I'm in a spot of bother."_

_ "Oh what's the matter?" He said._

_"__I'm afraid our Mr. Hamid has checked out, permanently. I need you to pick me up and fast."_

_ "Stay there Ms Brunel and stay out of site. Help is on the way."_

_"__Thanks, Out." She said and ended the call. _

_Hamid's murder was clearly, now a matter of British national security, and Smith intended to keep it that way. For now, she was more concerned about getting out alive without alarming the natives. A clear sense of panic set in around the club at the news that a murder occurred there. That usually meant the arrival of the military and that was never a good thing for the natives. Therefore knowing that the Iraqi military and police would also soon follow, Smith inconspicuously made her way to the car through the quite alleyways of Al Hadi then waited for the police to arrive._


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Over My Dead Body

That night, Smith accompanied Superintendent Adebayo to Al Jameat police station. Adebayo himself was a fresh faced man of Nigerian descent and in his early forties. He was very dark skinned, and had a sharp jaw line and pointed chin. He almost resembled a young Pele or Miles Davis in his prime.

He had the proud distinction of being one of the most decorated officers in the Met after leaving the military police, and one of the first black officers to rise so quickly up its ranks. Yet at the same time, he found himself halfway around the world in a country that bordered on lawlessness.

Three years earlier in 2005, Al Jameat, the very base that he operated out of was the subject of controversy in the world press. Iraqi police arrested two SAS soldiers for opening fire on their colleagues and brought them to the station charging them with murder. A few days later, the British army turned up in force and raided the station in order to release the two men. There was of course some collateral damage and loss of life.

The foreign secretary at the time denied the incident ever occurred to the press, which in turn caused a furore among the Iraqis, and come local election time; the winning candidate Ahmed al-Waili ordered a boycott of all British forces in the city in protest.

This caused significant embarrassment for the British who were trying to repair the country somewhat. What they needed was a mediator, someone to appease the situation, and that someone was Adam Adebayo. Adebayo had always been a community builder. He launched a successful campaign against the drug gangs of the East London estates. He could win the respect of communities and what's more, he was the son of Nigerian Muslims, a perfect combination for the Iraq job.

Adebayo hit the ground running in Iraq. After much negotiation, the coalition assigned him to Al Jameat to liaise with the local police. He was mainly put there to keep the Iraqis out of the British' way but somewhere along the line he earned the trust of the locals in tackling some insurgent gangs terrorizing the area. He now found himself in the unenviable position of having to investigate a murder that was part of an MI6 operation. One of the redcap patrol vehicles in the area brought her to the station that night where corporal Mc Ewan; a boyishly looking good looking soldier escorted her in to Adebayo's office and left. The place stank of a smell that was a combination between scented floor polish and stale urine. There were no lavatories in Iraqi prison cells and guards tended to treat prisoners like dogs and very often for minor infractions.

"Come in." Adebayo said as she knocked on the door.

She entered, closed the door behind her.

"Thank you Superintendant, you saved my bacon that's for sure?"

Adebayo on the other hand wasn't as happy to see her.

"You picked a tough business for yourself Miss Brunel; if that's your real name. You're damn lucky to come out of there alive at all". He said.

Smith answered sardonically. "Thanks Superintendent but I already gathered from Hamid that this was a man's world around here. I can take care of myself thank you very much."

"I have no doubt that you can. You mind telling me what this is all about".

"I'm sorry superintendent but for the moment that's top secret". Smith replied.

"Have a seat," he said and she complied. She asked Adebayo for permission to smoke and he kindly allowed it, and gave her an ashtray. She lit one up and he got off his chair, made his way over to the left hand side of the table, and sat on the edge of it.

"No offence Miss Brunel but you just killed a man, and you are also a potential suspect…witness in another murder. This is a very serious situation; one which as a professional policeman, trying to establish some kind of law and order in this place, do not take likely; not likely at all."

Smith inhaled a lungful of smoke from her cigarette and let it out coolly

"No offence yourself superintendent but you seem to forget the reason you have this so-called law and order in the first place is because of the information provided to you by me and others like me. If that were to go in the morning, I can tell you you're job would be substantially more difficult. Therefore it is in you're best interests that my presence here shall remain unofficial."

"It'll be difficult conducting an investigation with my hands tied behind my back by MI6. You're effectively asking me to cover up the truth. Hamid was well known. The local authorities are going to want to know what happened." Adebayo replied.

He sat back down into his chair, defeated by her authority. She sensed the police officer's instinct in him and knew that he disliked the more shadowy elements of the war. He also disliked being usurped or interfered with when it came to the performance of his duties. Smith responded, somewhat more sympathetically this time around.

"Relax superintendant have we ever let you down. Hamid was a double agent acting for the Shia insurgency, so it's natural that many people would be glad to see the back of him; after all this is war and Basra can be a rough town. I'm sure we can concoct a story".

"May I go on record as not liking this one bit Miss Brunel; not one bit at all…But I suppose I can't complain too much. After all, the information you've provided me in the past has made my job here an awful lot easier. That still doesn't hide the fact that dealing with you bloody intelligence people can often make my skin crawl. Life was so much easier in the Met."

"I'm sorry I can't get you clearance at the moment but I'll see what I can do: Having said that there is no guarantee. All I can tell you is that there is some serious national security stuff going on here, and it involves our john doe Hamid." Smith said.

Adebayo, knowing the lie of the land, decided to take an educated guess. "Let me see" he said "does it involve that bombing in Mombasa; I do read the news you know Miss Brunel."

"Oh I couldn't possibly go into that superintendant. Besides, we have more immediate concerns. I want to know the identity of the guy who tried to kill me. That said do you have any hunches of your own".

"We won't know for sure until the forensic analysis is done. We've got a brilliant team based in Basra provincial police HQ under an Irish lady; Rebecca Moane, who is a professor of the forensic science department in the University of Basra, on loan from Cardiff University I believe. Unfortunately these kinds of shootings are ten a penny in Iraq, and I'm guessing from what you've surmised that this person you killed more than likely isn't the insurgent next door; assuming of course he is Mr. Al Hamid's assassin."

"That's what I intend to find out Superintendent, I'm going to need full access to your investigation of course".

"You'll have it." Adebayo replied. "In the meantime I'm going to need you to stay close by. I may have more questions. Oh, and I'll need to contact your people. I can only cover up so much so in order for this to work I'm going to have to have some sort of accommodation on your part. I take it you're not going back to the base tonight."

"No I have booked into the Basra International hotel for the night. Luckily, they had a last minute reservation. Look I get where your coming from superintendent and I'll do all I can to make things easier on you. I'll give you the number of Nigel Rodgers, our head of station here. He should be able to sort you out."

"That's fine by me Miss Brunel." Adebayo replied, "Just as long as we're singing from the same hymn sheet. I'd like to arrange a police escort for you while you're in town; it'll be discreet of course."

She reluctantly conceded. "Ok Superintendent, you win," and with that they shook hands on it. Smith was slightly nervous about the idea of operating under local police protection, as very often it was a "discreet" form of surveillance. She liked the idea that she didn't officially exist in Iraq and wanted to keep it that way. However, she was thankful for the small luxury of a hotel for the night and looked forward to it.

She respected Adebayo up to a point. Being a cop, he had a professional tendency to like going through the official channels when it came to dealing with serious crime, even in Iraq. However, at the same time he was courteous and not completely by the book. He was easy to deal with and a useful ally to have.

At around 10:45 that evening, Smith left the station, and under police escort drove to the hotel on the banks of the Shatt al-Arab river in the Al Ashar district. The hotel was initially part of the Sheraton group until they pulled out of it in 1991, and they closed it for a number of years after the invasion due to renovation. Now that things were beginning to quieten down in the city, and that the British were getting ready to withdraw, the hotel was back to its former glory.

Smith parked her dilapidated Yugo in the underground car park and proceeded to the main entrance. As she entered the hotel through the great big bronze revolving door, the sheer luxury of the atrium brought an instant smile to her face. A majestic chandelier that hung from the ceiling provided warm lighting, and beautiful fresh perennials handsomely decorated the area. It was everything you'd expect from a hotel in the region, modern yet retaining a subtle, playful Middle Eastern flavour to its design.

Smith took the escalator to the main reception desk, staffed by a young Asian man in his twenties. He was in the middle of tending to a client. As she waited to be served, she deduced that his accent was more reminiscent of someone from somewhere in the Indian subcontinent. It was not unheard of for Indian nationals to gravitate towards the oil rich Middle East for work and with all the new developments happening, even Iraq was no exception.

"Good evening madam how can I be of service". He asked graciously.

"Yes the name's Samantha Brunel. I believe you have a reservation for me".

"Yes madam that is room 305. Our porter will take care of your bag for you.

Room service will provide you with any comfort you may wish. Just dial nine followed by your room number to call them. Breakfast in the restaurant is from 7:30-10:30 AM. We hope you have a pleasant stay madam."

"Thank you kindly". Smith replied, and with that, the receptionist handed the keys to the porter who guided Smith to the elevator, which they then took to the third floor. They came to room 305 down the corridor, and the porter unlocked the door for her. She tipped him 20 US Dollars which given the value of Iraqi currency was generous and thus he gratefully left.

Smith immediately unpacked. She removed her clothes and ran a luxurious bath that lasted an hour and a half. "Thank Christ for the company gold card". She thought to herself, as she relaxed in the bathtub. $475 a night may be a small nightmare to someone in accounts payable trying to balance a tight intelligence budget but to Smith it was a small price to pay for her dirty, dangerous profession. To her, it was a way of refocusing and rejuvenating herself for to deal with the task in hand

Smith got out of the bath, dried herself off, and let out the bath water. Dressed in a bathrobe she sat in front of the mirror, plugged in the hair dryer provided and ran it through her hair in a zigzag motion.

She went to the mini-bar, the cost of which thankfully, the hotel covered in the price of the room, and pulled out a six-pack of Corona Extra. She called room service for a lime to go with the beer and they came diligently.

She then flicked through the TV channels, and watched Al Jazeera for a bit. There, she saw a curious report on the news that caught her eye. Apparently, there was a connection to the Flaming Sword case and a European investment house named Banc de Versailles.

According to the report the bank, owned by the powerful Rothemere group went into receivership because of it's exposure to the global economic crisis. The international community had freed up $700m of Iranian state funds a few months previously as part of a peace deal with the west and Banc de Versailles held Flaming Sword's Islamic relief funds in escrow during that time. Forensic accountants made the startling discovery when they swooped in.

Trying not to over analyse it, Smith flicked over to some cheesy Bollywood movie that was on in one of the Indian channels instead. She stayed watching it until all the beers ran out, and then turned off the TV and went straight for bed.

The following morning at around 9:30, Susan, slightly hung-over took a shower, brushed her teeth, and made her way down to the Al Shanashil restaurant overlooking the swimming pool. There she indulged in a beautifully rich Middle Eastern breakfast of Labneh and pita bread accompanied by a deliciously light hummus dip followed by fresh fruit.

After breakfast, Smith packed, fixed up her bill and proceeded with her bag to the lot where she parked her car. Under the watchful eye of her local law enforcement escort, she made the 3.3 km round trip from the hotel to police headquarters that took her up through Corniche Street then down the length of Dakeer Street. The journey took roughly a half an hour in morning traffic. While she was driving, she got a call on her Smartphone. It was from Superintendent Adebayo.

"Hello".

"Ah Miss Brunel there you are. Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time".

"Better late than never Superintendent; shoot".

"Well you'll be glad to know that the weapon we found was used to kill Hamid, and professor Moane Is almost certain that can be traced back to your mystery man. She'll go over the details with you when you get there."

"Thanks Superintendent; any ID on the would-be assassin?"

"Not yet, but whoever he is he is of Latin American origin so that one we'll leave for you people to try and find out. By the way, I do hope the police escort isn't too overbearing?"

"No, not at all"

"Sorry for the inconvenience, it's just a formality. I'm sure you understand."

"No problem Superintendent. I'll do my best to keep in touch. I have to go now. I'm coming to a roundabout. Goodbye".

"Goodbye Miss Brunel".

In her own mind, Smith was glad to see the back of Adebayo, and she certainly would be glad to see the back of Iraqi police headquarters as well. Deniable operations was always a tricky business when dealing with civilian police, especially the Iraqis, most of whom aren't very sympathetic of the British, or their purpose their.

Facing into another potentially nerve racking situation she lit a cigarette and flicked through IPod for a heavy slab of Rock n Roll. She contended that Mastodon's leviathan album should do the trick, and by the time she pulled up to police headquarters car park, she ejected the cassette adapter to her IPod, which was already, unfortunately half way through playing Iron Tusk, her favourite track on the album. She parked the car, got out and headed straight through the sliding door for the reception desk.

"Hello. I'm here to see professor Moane. The name is Samantha Brunel". The officer behind the desk, seemingly lacking in any zeal gave a staid response. "Tek a sit over there pliz", and with that, Susan sat and waited patiently. He called the lab and asked for the professor. Eleven minutes later, she came down. She gave Smith a broad smile. Moane was in her mid-thirties. She had shoulder length curly ginger hair. Her pallid face was sporadically freckled and boasted a small yet sharp diamond shaped nose and a broad mouth.

"Welcome Miss Brunel. I'm Rebecca Moane. You can go ahead and call me by my first name if you wish".

.. "Nice to meet you Rebecca" Smith said, giving a firm handshake.

"I'd better show you to the mortuary; it's through the lab area".

They took the elevator the third floor and turned left down the corridor for the labs.

"So how long have you been here in Iraq Rebecca?" Smith asked

"Oh about five months, I'm originally from County Mayo. I was educated at Trinity College Dublin and worked in the Irish State crime lab for about 5 years, then 2 years at Cardiff before they offered me the position here in Basra. My job is to oversee and certify all the technicians who work here, you know for lab accreditation purposes. I also lecture in forensics at the university."

"Impressive" Smith replied.

Superintendent Adebayo had already given the professor a lowdown on her guest, and with an almost scientific curiosity, she said.

"Just between us, Superintendent Adebayo says you're in the Intelligence business, MI6 I believe."

"Unfortunately for obvious reasons I can't talk very much about it Rebecca and I'd prefer if you didn't ask me, OK." Smith replied.

At this point Smith cursed Adebayo to high heaven in her mind using all kinds of expletives.

"Oh of course; my apologies." Moane replied, "We're now passing through the main lab".

The modernity of the set up impressed Smith. The lab was furnished with GC Mass Spec machines, FTIR Spectrometers for toxicology and polymer analysis and gel electrophoresis for analysis of DNA; all spanking brand new.

"You certainly have a lot of impressive new equipment Rebecca, although I was expecting it to be a bit more antiquated being Iraq". Smith said.

"Oh no. we run a very modern system here," Moane said. "We just got two million dollars from the coalition to update the facilities here. The military police battalion were very impressed by the way we handled things."

Smith cut to the chase and got down to business. "Ok, Superintendant Adebayo mentioned that the mortuary received a body; a certain Latin American male." She said.

"Yes, we have him in cold storage; we found a weapon close to the scene. We ran it and it's definitely the one used to kill your Mr. Hamid. As it turns out it was a Russian Dragunov 7.62mm sniper rifle; has been in use since the 1960's, very common type of weapon here in Iraq. At a glance it looks like a local job, but then we tested our Latin American friend for gunpowder residue and it turns that he's a match."

"Really," Smith replied "then I shall very much like to see his body."

"Sure thing, the chief medical examiner Dr Aziz is gone to lunch so we'll be dealing with the junior pathologist, he should have the body processed by now."

"Excellent, that suits me fine." Smith replied

Smith and Moane made their way inside the mortuary where they met the junior pathologist; a puffy faced young Iraqi whose name was Tariq Abdullahi. He was at his desk, in the middle of filling out a coroners report when the professor approached him.

"Hi Tariq, this is Ms. Brunel, the lady who works with Superintendent Adebayo. Ms. Brunel, this is Dr. Abdullahi."

"Good to meet you Tariq," Smith said.

"And you Miss." he replied. He spoke in a mild Middle Eastern accent, and proffered Smith a handshake which was quite firm. They were the kind of hands that were quite obviously used to breaking through rib cages and carving up internal organs, the kind of work that required them to be strong.

"I apologise that Dr Aziz isn't here to meet you." He said, "You're here to see Mr. Hamid's body I take it".

Moane interjected. "No Tariq she's here to see a body that was recovered in the vicinity of the Ya Dallah club; Latin American male mid to late thirties, have you processed it yet?"

"Ah yes, I think I know the one you mean. Yes, he was finished about an hour ago. I'm just writing up the details."

"May we have a look?" Smith asked.

"Of course, let me get my notes." He said.

Abdullahi got his autopsy notes from the desk and proceeded to open the cold chamber containing the corpse. As he rolled out the body, Smith got a strange feeling of unease. She was almost revisiting the moment she killed him. After all it's not every day one gets to see the fruits of one's labour laid out like a stone effigy in front of you.

For the first time Smith got a good look at the face of the man she killed. The shaven head, broad Hispanic nose and pencil moustache, coupled with the heavily tattooed upper body and arms were, to say the least, quite distinctive.

"Here he is, yes." Abdullahi said, "The official autopsy report states that cause of death was internal haemorrhaging due to laceration of the femoral artery. Is this the gentleman you mean?"

"Yes Tariq," Moane replied. "We pulled gunshot residue off his hands which matched the sniper's rifle we found. I suppose now all that's left for us to do is identify him. By the look of him and his tattoos he probably belongs to one of those Hispanic gangs from Los Angeles; but what could possibly bring him to Iraq?"

Smith face donned a serious preoccupied expression. Whatever it was she was thinking it was not pretty. Her first instinct was that somehow this man was a contractor for one the intelligence services, possibly the CIA. The idea unnerved her slightly. To keep Moane's mind from becoming too curious she replied:

"Oh he probably belongs to the American's. There due to take over in a couple of months, probably one of those reformed gang members who saw the light and enlisted, it's common to have a lot of US Special Forces Personnel around Basra these days."

"Oh yes of course, your probably right." Moane replied. She knew better than to second-guess Smith, or to ask too many questions. It was common knowledge that most Hispanic gang members wear distinctive tattoos which display there affiliation with specific groups.

Smith instantly recognised the distinctive MS tattooed on the man's chest; it was the mark of Mara Salvatrucha or MS13, a transnational criminal organisation founded by El Salvadorian ex-pats who had immigrated to Los Angeles to in the 1980's in order to flee a brutal civil war going on their. There they were set up to protect El Salvadorians from native LA gangs, and formed several alliances with other Hispanic gangs, most notably the Mexican Mafia. They became heavily involved in the drug trade coming out of South and Central America and as a result of the US's war on drugs, many members were deported back El Salvador and neighbouring countries, where they formed chapters of the gang their.

Smith was familiar with them. As of late, they had come to attention of the British security and intelligence services because they had spread their influence to the Latin American nation of Belize, a British Commonwealth territory.

"Tariq, do you have the original Autopsy photographs for this guy?" Smith asked.

"Yes of course I'll get them."

While he was getting the photos, Smith turned to Moane. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate these." She said.

Moane took the photos off Abdullahi as he was about to bring them over from the filing cabinet. "I'm sorry Ms Brunel but this is evidence in a murder case. I can't in all conscience authorise this." She was very vocal in her objection to handing over evidence on a whim.

"I'm sorry too Rebecca but I'm an official of the British government and this investigation is officially a matter of national security, which I am not at liberty to go into. You could complain to the Iraqi government, but all I have to do is make one phone call to my superiors, who will go through the official diplomatic channels and will make you give them up anyway. Now you can either spare yourself the lengthy and embarrassing process of having your funding cut or you can simply comply with my request, because either way, I'll get what I want."

"This is highly irregular," Moane protested. "I intend to make a complaint about this."

"Whatever makes you feel better Rebecca, but to be honest I don't give a shit how you feel; now those photos please"

Moane shoved the folder briskly in front of Smith's face and Smith took it and left. "This warrants a cigarette". She thought to herself. Really, she was thinking of something stronger and more effective like a few stiff drinks. She exited the cool darkness of the mortuary (and undoubtedly Professor Rebecca Moane's mood) and lit one up. She got out her cell phone and called Sophie.

"Soph, hi it's Susan"

"Oh hi Susan, how did everything go with Hamid?"

"I'm afraid that's a long story but in the end he wound up dead. Not by me of course…Look I need you to do something for me".

"Sure Susan, anything,"

"I've just been at the Mortuary where they have Hamid's body. I kind of got into an altercation with a guy who has been proven by the forensics people to be Hamid's assassin."

"Oh I see," Sophie said. "Did you have to kill him?"

"I'd rather not go into that Soph. we need to identify him. I have the autopsy photos of the guy here with me; Hispanic, early thirties."

"Any ideas as to who he might be?"

"Not sure yet Soph, but based on his elaborate body art I'd say he belongs to MS13, you know the Mara Salvatruchas from El Salvador. Anyway, I suspect that he might be a private contractor. I'm going to need you to get clearance from M to go on the NATO CRONOS database. They should have him on file. If he is a private wet boy I want to know who hired him and if somebody out there doesn't want me to succeed."

"I'll try Susan, I'm sure M will accommodate me, but this could take hours even days to get a match, and there is always a chance I could be turned down."

"Nevertheless Soph, It's something we have to do. If you have any problems let me know. I should be due back after lunch"

"Ok Susan. Do be careful out there."

"Will do Soph."

Smith extracted another cigarette, lit it using the butt of the last one, and took a deep pull through her lungs. Strangely enough she was getting a better hit off this cigarette than previous one she had smoked. She made her way to the car, got her IPod out of the glove compartment, and put on White Pony: the Deftones magnum opus. Smith loved its unique blend of electronic experimentation and brutal heaviness that was so at odds with the generic, commercial Nu Metal sound which so many British squaddies in Iraq were into, and which she hated. Music often helped her get things off her mind and into perspective, but as she made the journey from the police station in Ar Ribat onto route 31 she couldn't help but reflect on the situation she was now involved in.

This situation regarding the unknown assassin troubled her. At first, she thought he could quite possibly be a product of the School of the Americas or the US Centre for Tropical Warfare, but that was a bit too obvious; the Americans don't really recruit people from MS13 for special operations: or do they?

With the US forces due to takeover the administration in Basra in a few months time following the British withdrawal from Iraq, any number of agendas could be possible. Smith chose to shelve such thoughts, and as she surrendered herself to the desert highway, and the music pulsating out of the stereo she knew that either way, all would be revealed.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Give An Inch, Run A Marathon

Smith arrived at the base at around 2:15 that afternoon. The soldiers, ever cautious and terrified of the civilian population took no chances. They trained there weapons on the Yugo as it pulled up outside the gates of the base. She identified herself and she was let through. She parked her car in the motor pool, got out, and immediately proceeded to the MI6 hut.

Smith went inside and walked over to Sophie's terminal, where she was on the phone at the time. Sophie looked up, acknowledged Smith's presence, and smiled broadly at her in mid conversation. Smith reciprocated, and waited for her to get off. A few minutes later she ended her conversation and hung up the receiver.

"Hi Susan, Just got off the phone to Istanbul; that was Ronson, the NATO intelligence officer assigned to Station T Turkey. I told him just there that you had the photos and that I'd fax them to him. You know that was a smart move going through CRONOS."

"Of course it was Soph." Smith said, "I've become rather adept at this game. I take it you went through the local CIA channel as well?"

"Funny you should mention that, because I talked to Jennings, their officer in charge of the contingent who's due to take over in Basra after we leave. According to him the Americans have no knowledge of any associations with former Mara Salvatrucha members, or any other Latin Americans operating as contractors in Iraq."

"Bollocks" Smith blurted, "Of course they would say that wouldn't they. What utter bullshit. Well he certainly didn't come to Iraq to enjoy the good weather, that's for sure."

"Ah well," She said. "At least we have the database so we'll soon find out won't we. As an allied intelligence agency were are legally entitled, and often required to view and upload shared Intelligence, particularly on special operations between our two agencies. Any information we need on this guy will be there. Anyway, how's it going otherwise? You had no problems with M I take it?"

"Well." Sophie responded hesitantly. "She was a bit iffy at first but she eventually conceded. It was she who put me on to Ronson."

"I wouldn't worry about it Soph. Being the face of the company to the politicians M can be like that. However when it comes to accommodating her agents, she's bang on. As a NATO officer, Ronson has universal clearance. I assume you'll want to see the photos."

"Yeah sure" Sophie said. "I'll just fax them through to Ronson now."

"Good, fancy grabbing some lunch?" Smith replied. "I'm starved. It should be done by the time we get back".

"Sounds like a good idea. You read my mind Susan, just give me a minute".

Sophie took the envelope off Smith and sifted through them for a suitable headshot of the man. She fed it into the tray, dialled the number and the photo disappeared into the machine, accompanied by a whining mechanical screech which was almost reassuring, as it meant they were getting ever closer to the truth.

Sophie locked her computer and the pair made their way to the mess hall. She loaded a healthy dollop of good old fashion British bangers and mash onto her plate while Susan, preferring a bit more zing, decided to have a chicken curry which the army caterers had a knack for making particularly hot.

The food was surprisingly good for a military outpost in Iraq. The military did their best to make their soldiers feel as much at home as possible given the circumstances. After about three quarters of an hour trading anecdotes about home and family, Susan and Sophie tidied up their trays and were just about to leave the mess hall when in walked Corporal David Hayes, a particularly obnoxious, nauseating bastard from Fife, Scotland. Smith and he didn't get on. He tried it on with her once and she flatly rejected him by telling him she was a lesbian. It wasn't the best move to make and it would give him ammunition to use against her later on.

"Oh look lads it's her again," he said sarcastically to the small posse of squaddies around him. "On a date with your girlfriend then eh? You know the top brass don't take too kindly to dykes getting it on around here. But if you give us a shag I promise I won't tell anyone". The posse of soldiers laughed mockingly in response to his quip. Smith took it on the chin and calmly went over to him and replied, "You know your right. It's a terrible weakness. I do like girls, but that's because girls kick ass. Look; says so on my tattoo."

Smith opened the top buttons on her blouse to reveal a glimpse of tantalizing cleavage to him, which as man, he became subliminally aroused by, and, where no such tattoo actually existed. The gesture was enough to break his concentration for that brief moment where she landed him a powerful taekwondo style uppercut to the jaw that sent him crashing into a trolley of trays and onto the ground. Whilst he lay there stunned, she took advantage of the situation by stomping on his private parts with her right foot.

As he writhed on the ground, wheezing in pain Smith retorted, "Was it good for you too? Because that's the only physical contact you'll ever get from Me." and then casually left the room with Sophie past a crowd of stunned, highly impressed facial expressions.

"Wow Susan you really kicked his arse". Sophie said in awe. "But what will Brigadier Johnson have to say"?

"Don't worry Soph" Smith replied, "Nobody really likes him anyway. He'll probably say serves him right for being such a loudmouth arsehole".

Back inside the hut and Sophie unlocked the computer. She Immediate made for her Email. Ronson of Station T was due to send the dossier of the man.

She scanned the Inbox for it, found it, and eagerly opened the attachment. The file needed a username and password to decrypt it, which Sophie was given.

"Ah yes, here we are," She said. "It turns out that he is a contractor after all; one Filipe Ramon Herrera: a Guatemalan national. He became a member of Mara Salvatrucha in Guatemala in the early nineties. He became involved in the cocaine trade and human trafficking of illegal immigrants from Honduras and El Salvador, bound for the United States into Mexico. He has served several prison sentences in that country, and has been suspected of several vicious assaults and gang murders on the inside."

"Yes but who does he work for?" Smith asked.

"Patience is a virtue Susan," Sophie replied "According to this he was recruited by the CIA in 2003 under Operation: Impending Doom, as part of a parole deal when he was serving time in prison."

"I've heard of that," Smith said. "Since 9/11 the Walker Administration have been clamping down on illegal immigration and the gangs that propagate it. So the CIA recruit suitable candidates from the gangs in order to disrupt them; pit them off against each other so to speak, mainly by carrying out killings and blaming it on other rival gangs, that sort of thing. Anyway go on."

"Well according to this our Mr. Herrera was trained as an assassin at the School of the Americas now known as WHINSEC, and was given some basic training in the use of false passports to pass between Latin American countries without coming to the attention of the law. Impending Doom was abandoned in 2006 in order to direct more attention on to anti-terrorist matters, and by that time he had become wanted by the Maras. According to CIA, who was monitoring him, it was believed that he had gone private. Their report states that presently he is on the payroll of, wait for it: The Marathon Corporation."

"Marathon eh," Smith mused.

"Yes" Sophie replied "the American multinational private defence and intelligence company; probably the biggest contractor in Iraq. Its operation has become quite active internationally in recent years, operating in Europe, the Middle East and Asia. But what could they possibly have to gain by killing Hamid?"

"I don't know Soph; all I know is that this case is getting stranger by the minute. Anybody's capable of anything out here I suppose. I think I may need to consult with M before anything else. Thanks very much for your help Soph and well done".

"No problem Susan"

Marathon Corporation was set up in the late 1990's initially to train SWAT teams and security personnel but since 9/11 and the invasion of Iraq their business had mushroomed into a major mercenary corporation with its own private intelligence agency, military training facilities and research and development for military vehicles and equipment. They had major connections with the CIA, the US State Department and the US military as well as most of America's NATO allies.

Two minutes later Smith entered the briefing room, sat at the computer and opened up Skype, eager to deliver the news that a private defence corporation was now allegedly involved in a terror plot; or at the very least a murder. M would obviously have to tread carefully with this one but if anyone could source a rat and at the same time take no bullshit doing it; it was M. It didn't matter if there were friendly forces involved. As far as she was concerned you couldn't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

Unlike Susan herself, M wasn't afraid to assert herself, even if it meant pissing off her superiors and her CIA allies a little. They were both women who had made it in the boy club and a little misogyny was no deterrent to their unflinching determination to the job in hand. Better that than losing the bigger picture any day of the week. With mixed anticipation, Smith made the video call to Vauxhall Cross.

"Ah 005 there you are. How are you"?

"Fine thanks ma'am."

"I heard about Hamid's untimely demise from Ms Telman. Are you all right? How did it happen?"

"Sniper fire from across the street ma'am." Smith replied, "Thankfully I don't think he was aiming for me. I followed the assassin and we got into an altercation in which he wound up dead as a result."

"Well I hope you covered your tracks 005." M replied.

Susan donned a semi sarcastic look "Don't worry about me ma'am everything's under control. I contacted a London Met officer Adam Adebayo whom I know here in Basra. I pass certain intelligence his way from time to time so I called in a favour. He didn't like it but he gave me his full cooperation so I think he'll play ball with us."

"Good." M replied, in her inimitable stoicism. "I assumed you have some information for me on this assassin?"

"Yes ma'am, I sort of had to muscle in on his investigation a bit. That forensics bitch gave me a bit of a problem when it came to confiscating some of the evidence, but I think that at last we have a beat on the assassin from the CRONOS people in Istanbul, his name is Filipe Ramon Herrera, a private wet boy currently on the payroll of the Marathon Corporation. They're major contractors in here in Iraq providing diplomatic and infrastructural security services. They also provided logistical support for our military on a couple of projects. Their international headquarters are in Arlington Virginia I believe."

"Marathon eh; those slimy buggers: yes, 005 I'm familiar with them." M was overcome all of a sudden by an uneasy silence.

"Should we be worried about them ma'am…ma'am?"

"Depends on how you look at Smith, you see our government has had dealings with them before. As part of their private security service, they gather intelligence on particular threats from Islamist fighters in the regions they work. We employed their services in Kenya in order to protect our diplomatic and economic interests their. One of the groups we were interested in was a Shia militant group connected with the flaming sword network. One the biggest Islamic denominations in the coastal regions are the Shiite community, and there has been much unrest in the country over election fraud, so the PM tried not to get the service directly involved."

"I see." Smith said, "So Marathon basically used the situation to stage a little terror attack. But to what end?"

"Search me 005; all I know is that the you can't accuse a so called respectable government contractor without proof. We don't do supposition Smith."

"Hmm, do we know of anybody in this Marathon organisation worth chasing after?"

"Yes." M replied, "Their CEO, one Michael Wolchik, is a man of particular interest. He's formerly of the US Special Forces. He served as an Army Ranger in Grenada, Panama and then in Operations Desert Storm and Restore Hope in Somalia. He's originally a native of Louisville Kentucky. He excelled in track and field in high school, hence the name of his company Marathon. He was born into a particularly controversial Christian sect known as the Warriors of Christ, you know, the group that was in the news last year for burning the Quran in public."

"I remember that." Smith said, "Weren't they the same group that publicly said the AIDS what was punishment sent from God to kill me and my kind?"

"I believe so Susan." M replied.

"Nice." Smith said "you certainly know how pick my assignments ma'am"

"Hold your horses 005; we're not quite at that stage yet."

"And is there anything I should know about this so-called Christian before I get sent out to bring him that little step closer to heaven?" Smith asked.

"Only a little I'm afraid. Much about his past has been glossed over by the American media, and undoubtedly the CIA; you know what they're like. Anyway, we believe he has previous criminal convictions for running crystal meth that were quashed in exchange for his enlistment in the military. The death of his sister Paula may have had something to do with his criminal years. Rumour has it that she committed suicide when he was fifteen years of age because of sexually abuse at the hands of their stepfather who was a Lebanese American, hence the reason why he keeps harking about defeating the global Muslim caliphate in the press, but of course, this is all conjecture. "

"Sound like the kind of lowlife trash we'd deal with alright" Smith replied "Anything else?"

"Yes; He went private in 1993 as a mercenary for the Bosnian Serb forces during the civil war in the former Yugoslavia. We considered hiring his services in order to get rid of Slobodan Milosevic, but considered it too operationally risky so we abandoned the idea. He has been in the news over here recently over alleged arms smuggling and private mercenary activity in Fallujah and Baghdad. But like I said it's hard to pin anything on them when so many of our western governments depend on people like him."

"But according to the news they deal with the CIA quite a lot ma'am. We haven't had a lot of luck deal with their people here. I do read the news. The US Senate apparently has them under investigation as far as I know. Perhaps you might be able to convince the Americans to help us?"

"I was hoping you'd say that 005. I think it's time to call in a few favours with our cousins. Maybe the American Congress can't or won't touch the bastard but we just might be able to. I'll get on it. In the meantime I want you back in London ASAP. I think you've outgrown your usefulness in Iraq Susan."

Smith smiled "I think so ma'am" She said.

"Good, then we'll meet in two days' time. It should give you time to rest up a bit. You can take fortnights' leave when this whole thing is over. I should have more information by the time you arrive."

"Understood ma'am; In that case I'd better go pack".

"Goodbye Smith and we'll see you back in London in a few days God willing".

"Goodbye ma'am. See you in London."

After the video call, Smith got Sophie to book her out on the next available flight due to leave the following day at 10:05 in the morning. It was Qatar Airways flight QR449 and it stopped off in Doha before making the connection to Heathrow, about 9½ hours flight time in total. After packing she spent her last night in the base sampling some the latest brew made by private Moyes, and playing a couple of rounds of chess with Sophie and the boys to a soundtrack of assorted rock and metal tunes before retiring for bed at around 10:30. She decided not to go too heavy on the drink that evening. She had to be up at the crack of dawn. Once she arrived in London there would be plenty of time for that.

The following morning she got up at around seven and was ready and breakfasted by 7:55. She had said her goodbyes to everyone and gave Sophie an affectionate hug before being driven to the airport in a British Army Foxhound armoured vehicle provided courtesy of Brigadier Johnson.

Smith arrived at the airport at around 8:35 and the soldier who drove her kindly helped her inside with her bags before leaving. The airport was undergoing renovation that was made clear by the lack of air conditioning and the poor state of the toilet facilities. It had been used quite a lot by the No. 903 expeditionary air wing of the RAF and was only civilianised just recently. As she checked in Smith couldn't wait to get out of there. She wanted to take home a memento but there was no duty-free as such, only a few craft stalls of women selling some woodcarvings. Smith bought one of these, which was a wooden hand-painted beetle mounted on a stick in a flip-top hand-carved wooden box. She also bought an English copy of Allen Carr's Easy way to give up smoking that she was lucky to pick up at a newsagent before boarding the 757.

The plane took off, and Smith launched into her book soon after. At first when she read the first few chapters she couldn't believe the sheer smugness of the author, nor his unerring self-belief in the infallibility of his system. It was as if his way was the one and only way to give up smoking just because he said so. However, to his defence, as she kept reading, she thought he had made a compelling argument against smoking. He seemed to deconstruct the habit well. After all cigarettes are utterly useless drugs with absolutely no benefits, socially, psychologically or otherwise. They have killed more people than any other drug in history. Governments are often complicit in profiting from the tobacco industry through lobbying and steep taxation, and pharmaceutical giants make an industry out of products that either fail to get you off cigarettes because they contain nicotine, or worse yet, become addictive themselves.

Smith; becoming increasingly convinced of the arguments he was making finally got the chapter that revealed the method. "What the hey". She thought, "why not give this guy a try. I'm not bothered by not being able to smoke on a plane why should I be bothered ever again".

The plane touched down in Doha International Airport. The minute she got off the plane and collected her bags, Smith instantly made for the first litter bin she could find in the arrivals department and emptied her cigarettes into it, scrunching the pack mercilessly just to make sure the contents would smash up inside. "Damn coffin nails" she thought.

She had 45 miutes to kill before her connecting flight and decided to reward herself with a satisfying lunch of lamb Shawarma. Already the food tasted better without the cigarettes. She then deservedly washed down the meal with a refreshing Arabica coffee. Arab coffee was the best; strong and sumptuous, just how she liked it. The meal was over and by 12:30 pm it was time to board Qatar airways flight QR1 for London, which would have her there at approx. 17:55 GMT that evening.

The plane took to the skies leading Susan that little bit closer towards her final destination, and indeed her next job. She tried not to think about it too much, nor its implications. Smith was calm: a sort of a live-in-the-moment kind of girl. She decided to concentrate on the in-flight movie instead. It was Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

By the end of it Smith felt a little cheated. It was utterly disappointing in comparison to some of the earlier outputs of the franchise. First of all the Soviets were really no match for the Nazis as bad guys. The franchise was based around a serials idea that worked well when set in the backdrop of the 1930's but didn't come across as well set in the 1950's, and like Harrison Ford reprising the role, the series was a bit past its prime. "Oh well they just don't make blockbusters like they used to anymore." Smith thought. Everything in the Cinema now seems to be rehashed or rebooted nowadays.

After the movie she tried to get some kip for a few hours; a difficult achievement at times given some of the turbulence, and the fact that the at last two hours of the flight her ears were popping like mad. Thankfully she had a few packs of Wrigley's Extra which helped somewhat.

Finally, after a long flight and an equally long tour of duty, the plane, at last touched down at London Heathrow and Smith identified herself as MI6 in order to avoid the rather aggressive security regime employed at the airport, which included full body x ray machines and biometric retina photography. She still had to go through customs though in order to check in her firearm.

After being cleared at HM Customs, Smith got a cab to her apartment in Vauxhall. As she glanced out the window at the great glimmering bright lights of London she got a wonderful warm feeling of home. She thought about how good it was to be back, even though she already missed Sophie and the crew in Iraq.

The cabbie dropped her directly to the door of her apartment block on Kennington Road. He helped her to the door with her suitcases, and then she settled her bill and he left. She unlocked the door and went inside, shutting it behind her and leant with her back against it giving out a breath of relief followed by a broad smile. "Nine long months in Iraq and I'm absolutely beat. By God am I going to sleep tonight", she said to herself.

She took a brief look around her plush modern apartment and savoured her surroundings. Everything was just the way she left it and it felt so wonderfully comforting. It was like a new and exciting experience. Time to make a cup of tea followed by some glorious, well-anticipated British telly and then off to bed.

The company had been looking after her rent while she was away. Her bills were suspended and the electricity was just reconnected for her the day before. Of course the ever-illustrious MI6 monitored all her incoming voice messages that mainly came from friends and members of the extended Smith clan while she was away. Only her mother and sister knew she was involved with the secret service. She made them swear not to say anything to anybody, not even to relatives. She told them to tell people that she was discharged from the Royal Marines for medical reasons and that she got a job as a security consultant for an oilfield services company, anything just to throw people of the scent.

Smith realised that she had no groceries and popped out to the local shop to get some milk and things for her tea. Tomorrow she would go to the Tesco's down the road for a more serious grocery shop then spend the day lounging around. She went to bed at around 10:30 that evening. The following day after stocking up on groceries, she called up Eve Moneypenny from the house phone at around lunchtime. She and Miss Moneypenny were best friends in the service. They trained together on some of the MI6 courses. They were just two of the few of seven out one thousand five hundred candidates selected for intelligence officer training that year, beating out a lot of the male competition in the process.

With basic training out of the way, an officer, according to their individual talents and the requirements of the service, could specialise in one of its two divisions: standard intelligence collection, or special operations in either a field or clerical capacity. Both women showed particular promise for spec-op work, and because of lack of a background in the military, Penny had to stay a year behind Susan to do extra courses and weapons training in order to qualify for the 00 section, and even then, she still had to go through a 'probationer' phase before receiving full status.

Now Smith was planning to let off some steam. She hadn't had a night out in almost a year and by Christ was she going to paint London red tonight, even sweeter if Moneypenny was in tow.

"Hello," Moneypenny said.

"Hey girl what's happening it's Susan?"

"Oh my God Suz how are you babe. I missed you. Are you back long"?

"Just last night; hey listen I plan on getting absolutely pissed tonight, fancy going out".

"Dunno. Aren't you supposed to have M in the morning?"

"Oh to hell with that I'm not a schoolgirl anymore. I haven't had a proper drink in over nine months. Come on, what do you say?"

"Ooh I don't know. It's tempting but…."

"Oh come on for God's sake and stop drooling over that James Bond. Let's have a girl's night out. It'll be a laugh. Who knows you might even meet a real man."

"Excuse me you cheeky mare I don't drool over James Bond. Besides it's a weeknight. I ….."

"Oh come on say yes or I'll annoy the shit out of you. Penny loves James Bond, Penny loves James Bond".

Moneypenny Sighed "Oh it's true I do. I heard he's meant to be amazing in bed".

"Oh god woman get a grip".

"You mean to tell me you wouldn't do James Bond if you got the chance Susan, come off it girl".

"Maybe if I was drunk….and he spent a few months on the treadmill… then got an extensive facelift…I'd think about yeah."

Moneypenny laughed heartily.

"Bullshit babes". She said. "I bet you'd love to get into his knickers. I know people who have seen the two of you when you're around each other. You can't keep a secret for long amongst the staff of secret service."

"What people?" Smith retorted, slightly embarrassed "besides I'm bisexual. I don't normally swing for guys, especially guys like him. Anyway Bond and me are not like that."

"Whatever you want to tell yourself Suz; anyway how did you get on in Iraq?"

"Ok I suppose; to tell the truth I'm bloody well glad to be out there."

"Well I'm glad your home. As for me I'm dying to get out into the field. I don't think I could stick another days training; being a probationer sucks."

"Count your blessings Penny and be careful what you wish for. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"I suppose you're right. Still I'm dying to get out there; what's it like?"

"I'll leave you find that out for yourself; everyone to their own experience: Anyway, you going out or what?"

"I'll probably regret this in the morning but OK, let's do it."

"Yes"! Smith exclaimed loudly and pulled a closed fist victoriously downwards.

"See you at eight Penny; Vauxhall Station".

"Ok take care Suz gotta get back to work now."

"Till tonight Penny, Bye." Susan said, and then hung up the phone on the receiver.

After dinner, Smith flicked through the fifty odd Sky digital channels to find something of interest to watch just to put down time. At around 18:45 that evening she got into the shower. She had an assorted soundtrack of Rock albums on her IPod, ranging from My Bloody Valentine to Alice in Chains, Smashing Pumpkins and Radiohead to name but a few. She decided to ditch some of the harder metal she had become accustomed to in Iraq. Tonight she was feeling more playful, yet at the same time wanted to listen to something with of depth and experimentation.

Whilst in Iraq she had developed a fondness for Alanis Morrissette's latest outing Flavors of Entanglement and decided to have it on in the background on her IPod dock whilst showering. She considered it to be her best album, and admired it's beautiful ballads and poignant lyricism, and also noted a good balance of pop sensibilities with heavy, dissonant electronic experimentation as evident on the opening track citizen of the planet, which of recent times, became an almost therapeutic soundtrack to her life. Even though generic pop usually disinterested her, she did however have a soft spot for Alanis, probably because she grew up on Jagged Little Pill when it came out.

Smith preferred the company of more alternative oriented people as a teenager, and absorbed their musical influences, mainly due to rebelliousness at her stifling, often closeted existence. Her younger sister Anne was a guitarist in a band and played the piano, and had a strong influence on Susan growing up as well.

Smith got out of the shower, dried herself off, put on a bathrobe and went through the usual going out ritual of shaving her legs and doing her nails and toenails in crimson varnish. She sifted through her wardrobe for something to wear that evening. After some deliberation, she settled on the perfect combination of a crimson sleeveless crop top and a black, belted mini skirt both of which she picked up for a reasonable price at . Finally, it was time to do her make-up and eyes topped off with a dash of Chanel No.5. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and with a quick look over at herself in the mirror; she was ready to kill.

She called Moneypenny on her mobile and arranged to meet at Vauxhall station that evening. At about 19:45 she donned her waistcoat and packed up her handbag, and gave a glance around the apartment before turning off all the lights. Satisfied that everything was in order, she exited and locked the door behind her. Smith waited patiently outside the station and at around ten past eight Moneypenny arrived wearing a cream mini dress.

The pair threw their arms around each other in a deeply affectionate embrace of long lost friends. It had been quite a while since they saw each other and tonight was definitely going make up for lost time.

It was decided between them that the rock bars of Camden town would be their first port of call. Normally Moneypenny didn't often go out to rock bars but since Susan was home, she decided to make an exception. They got the tube from Vauxhall station that made about five stops before changing at Euston for Camden. Smith had luckily remembered the day before to purchase an Oyster card just for the occasion.

Of recent years, Camden had shed its grubby image to become a more fashionable district of London, littered with buskers and live music venues of all tastes from classic rock to jazz to the extremes of Goth and Metal. On arrival, Moneypenny and Smith had a few drinks in the Purple Turtle before heading to the Underworld where a gig was due to happen at nine. By 9:30, Smith was already tanking up well on tequila and orange juice while Moneypenny tried to keep up with her Corona Extras, as well as a few rounds of Jagermeister shots between them.

The evening's entertainment was provided courtesy of Adebisi Shank, a particularly noisy Math-core group from Ireland who were performing as part of their European tour. As the band hammered away at their rather frenetic brand of Rock and Roll, Smith and Moneypenny made their way up to the front of the stage to absorb the night's action. Smith bopped her head enthusiastically to the music as it belted out the PA. It wasn't really Moneypenny's cup of tea so they decided after a while to find a quieter bar for a chat and a few more drinks as by eleven o'clock conversation was proving increasingly difficult, given the decibel level.

They made tracks and headed for the inner city getting the tube from Camden to Oxford Circus where they headed to a nearby cocktail bar. Their plan from their was to head over to China White, an exclusive club on Winsley Street. China White has played host to many a celebrity, ranging from soap stars to footballers and their Wags. Wednesdays were members' only nights, and it just so happened that Smith was a member. It was the best night of the week as DJ Zerrick played the cream of Acid-house and Trance on Wednesdays

The pair, already tipsy put on their alluring faces to the bouncers in order to get in, and they avidly let them through. Bouncers tended to appreciate things of great beauty provided you weren't falling about the place, and a saucy brunette accompanied by drop-dead-gorgeous black woman was no exception.

Inside the club and the drink of choice was Bacardi Breezers, coupled with a few more Jagermeister shots. They danced feverishly to the techno and undoubtedly turned a few male heads in the process. As they sat down to rest for a moment, several men who thought they'd try their luck approached them but were flatly rejected. Susan thought that it might be fun the next time someone came along to chat them up to pretend that she and Moneypenny were Russian lesbians, and sure enough, a victim came along to chat them up. Mainly he was interested more so in Smith than Moneypenny.

He was a typical wine-bar, London stock exchange yuppie type. As he made his first advance, Smith and Moneypenny threw their arms around each other and embraced cheek-to-cheek.

"Good evening ladies." He exclaimed over the loud music "My name is Christian. I saw you alone and I said I'd wonder over and say hello. And who might you be my dear." He said directing his greeting at Smith. She then put on a fake Russian accent and condescendingly said, "I am Natasha and this is Olga, and we only like girls. Piss off." They moved in close to each and pretended to kiss each other on the lips. However, the man was persistent and he added, "How about a threesome ladies. Your coloured lady friend can be on the bottom." With that, Moneypenny caught the first drink she could find and threw it into his face. He walked off horrified and Smith rolled around in her seat, bursting at the seams in laughter.

3:00 A.M. and the club was over. They headed a Lebanese place just around the corner for kebabs. Afterwards as they walked down Oxford Street, Smith, at this point well inebriated, thought that taunting a solitary middle-aged man she saw at random on the street might be fun. She threw her arm around him drunkenly and said to him "hey, hey sir; ish zhure wiener kosher"? He instantly repelled her in disgust and she burst out laughing.

At this stage, Moneypenny was slightly embarrassed and she was beginning to regret coming out at all. It was like as if she knew that her best friend had gone through a tough time over in Iraq and would not or could not open up to her about it. All of a sudden Moneypenny, (having spent the night mixing drinks trying to keep up with Susan) felt an uneasy rumbling in the pit of her stomach. While Smith was hailing a cab, she puffed her cheeks, ran down a nearby alleyway and threw up.

A cab stopped but there was no sign of Moneypenny. Smith briefly stumbled around looking for her and drunkenly called out her name: "Moneypengy where are zhu; the cab ish here".

"Come on dawlin" I aint got all noight. You getting' in or wot"? The cabbie said impatiently. Smith found Moneypenny down the alleyway and seeing she was in a bit of a state, she tended to her. She beckoned to the cabbie to wait.

"Screw that". The cabbie said. "I'm not takin' 'er if she's sick", then took off into the night.

Eventually Moneypenny sobered up and the pair got another cab that dropped her off at her flat in Canary Wharf.

"Will you be alright Penny?" Smith asked.

"Nothing that a little sleep can't cure" Moneypenny said, quite clearly nauseated. "Although I can't say the same about tomorrow morning. How about you Suz, are you Ok, are you sure you don't want to talk about anything."

"What's there to talk about love, as you say nothing a good night's sleep won't fix." and with that Smith covered her friends half of the fare and she disappeared inside her apartment. The cab dropped Smith the rest of the way to her place in Kennington Road.

With a night of heavy partying behind her, it was time to face into a big day tomorrow, and the possibility of another dangerous yet challenging assignment. However, that was for tomorrow. For now, her mind was solely preoccupied with sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Thrills, Spills, and Interview Skills

The following morning, having got in at around 4:00 am, Smith had gone for a long sleep-in, too long, given the fact that she had to be in the office at 9:30 am. She had been a little irresponsible about her job but what the hell. She had been living in a war-zone for nine months and was entitled to let her hair down a bit, at least that's how she saw it.

When her alarm clock rang at 8:50 am, she instantly shut it off and curled back into bed hoping to get in a bit of a snooze. It was now edging closer to 10:30 when she realised she had overslept. She rolled over in bed to glance at the time through sleepy hung over eyes. "Oh shit"! She exclaimed suddenly, realising she was dead late.

She instantly jack-knifed out of bed and made straight for the bathroom for a quick five-minute shower. Then whilst not giving herself a chance to dry off fully she promptly threw on her bathrobe, and gave one brisk brush-over of her teeth.

Next, she hurriedly threw on her suit and skirt and scurried down the stairs towards the kitchen. She made for the pantry, plunked a single Weetabix into a bowl, sprinkled a generous helping of sultanas over it along some sugar and milk and gulped it down in two big morsels. After she finished devouring the hurried breakfast, she quickly rinsed the bowl under the tap and placed it in the dishwasher. She then grabbed her handbag and exited the apartment. She had no sooner gotten into her 2007 Volkswagen Golf and drove away when she realised she had forgotten her phone and couldn't call in to work.

Smith waited anxiously in traffic and had to wait at a few lights as well to make things worse. It should have been a six-minute journey by car but ended up close to fifteen by the time she got to Legoland (MI6 slang for Vauxhall headquarters). She parked the car and made straight for the reception. There she met the security personnel. She presented her ID (thankfully she hadn't forgot it), and from there they made her go through the usual routine of emptying the contents of her pockets and handbag on to a tray before going through a detector, which was specifically designed for metal, explosives and electronics. Once clear Smith hurriedly grabbed her things and darted across the marble atrium floor adorning a mural of the MI6 seal and its apt logo semper occultus (always secret).

She took one of the elevators to the fifth floor where M's office was located. As she hurriedly made her way down the corridor to the office, she paused for a moment to look at her reflection in one of the pictures that adorned the wall. There she briefly fixed up her hair and her dishevelled looking suit and proceeded to the office M's secretary, whose name was Michael Thornton.

With some trepidation, Smith asked, "Is she in?"

Thornton, a young man in his mid-twenties, looked up from his desk.

"Yes she is but she's not too happy. You were due in over an hour ago. We tried to get you on your phone but there was no answer".

"Shit". She blurted. "Yeah I know, sorry. Left the damn thing charging on the countertop and forgot it in the rush out the door."

Suddenly M emerged from her office.

"Where the hell have you been?" she said crossly. "It's now near bloody eleven".

"Sorry ma'am." Smith said sheepishly.

"Well you had best get in here before any more time gets wasted hadn't you.

"Yes ma'am, right away," Smith answered. It felt as though she was like a naughty schoolgirl, sent to the principal's office over some infraction. However, she had hoped it wouldn't be all bad once M got down the brass tacks. Immediately she followed behind her superior into her office.

Inside the office, M sat at her desk. "Well Smith judging from the head on you I'd say you had a hefty night of it last night, with Eve Moneypenny no less. She called in sick this morning. It had not escaped our notice that you two have been firm friends since joining the service. I should have realised that putting the pair of you together would only spell trouble".

"Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am. It won't happen again".

"I should hope not 005. However, I should have seen this coming. I have been putting you in harm's way a lot over the past year. I figured that we couldn't put a little girls night out past you. After all, we all have to blow off a little steam occasionally. In future Susan if you must plan one of these heavy nocturnal excursions, try not to make it on a weeknight, or at the very least turn up for work on time. That's all we'll say on the matter, consider it closed."

"Thank you ma'am," Smith said, gleaming with a sense of relief.

M reached for the drinks cabinet for some bourbon. She offered Smith a drink but she safely turned it down on the basis that it would be difficult to gauge the kind of reaction a drink would have on her system, especially after the lot she had the night before. She bade Smith to sit down.

"Now 005, shall we get down to business. Over the past few days, I have been involved in some discussion with our American cousins over the Marathon situation. Most of the time I've met with brick walls but that was until I got in contact with Felix Leiter. Reminded him of a few favours we did for him recently. Reluctantly he provided us with some valuable information ".

"Felix Leiter? Isn't he section chief for South America"?

"Was," M replied. "He's now with their South East Asia section. Apparently Marathon's intelligence division won some big contract with the CIA, in the Philippines no less; according to Leiter anyway."

"Do we know what kind of business they're doing there ma'am?

"We've suspected for quite some time that the CIA is trying to stir things up with the government there. Let's just say the administration of Bonifacio Samillion Aquino is not entirely pro-western. Apparently, he has promised to end corruption and fly in the face of the World Bank and the IMF policies concerning the country's national debt. Something the US isn't too happy about."

"You mean a good old fashioned coup d'état?" Smith replied.

M gave out a short but amused chuckle. "You're quick off the mark 005. Many of Aquino's Socialist policies have offended certain prominent Filipinos. This is his fourth term in office, and there is widespread criticism from the pro-business opposition and allegations of corruption. Many believe that he's slowly turning into another Marcos. The presidential elections are coming up in two months' time and certain elements of the Filipino government and opposition parties have offered to help the CIA to oust him in exchange for help with eliminating a key member of the Moro Islamic liberationfront, one Mohammed Mangurun."

"Where does Marathon come in?"

"The CIA and Filipino intelligence are trying to keep a low profile. They don't want to do anything that will harm the prospective new government's transition to power. They don't want to get involved in anything that will expose them or damage the opposition's plans for an autonomy deal for the Moro region so they have turned the whole intelligence gathering and analysing process over to the private sector. Marathon was first to win the contract, since it is involved in a lot of security work for infrastructural projects and Military training there."

"And pray tell why is Leiter so forthcoming with this information ma'am, why the holier-than-thou attitude all of a sudden?"

"Leiter was always a good judge of character." M replied. "There's something about this Michael Wolchik fellow that he doesn't like and we're inclined to agree. The American House of Representatives; ahead of the US presidential election, has ordered a discreet investigation into private mercenary activities, and the CIA and FBI have the unenviable position of carrying out the job. A chap named Alan Landers is the FBI man in charge of the investigation. I believe you've met him before."

"Briefly ma'am, briefly." Smith said.

"I see," M said. "We've tried to get access to the joint US intelligence cloud drive called Damocles, but to little avail. Leiter has agreed to help us get inside as long as nothing is done till after the election, something on which he wouldn't elaborate about. Which brings us to another point; are you aware of the Palmegate affair 005?"

"Yes ma'am. Valerie Palme was the CIA operations officer in charge of counter-proliferation. Something about her cover being blown by the Walker administration just to get back at her husband for political reasons, why do you ask?"

"Well before Palmegate Valerie's husband was tasked by the CIA to investigate claims of the sale of nuclear materials from Niger to the Saddam regime. While he found no evidence of sales to Iraq, it did prompt the CIA to investigate, above all people, our friend Masood Khoury, something that is still classified. As it turns out, he's joint partners in SITCO with Moishe Soref, one of the men at the centre of QUANTUM investigation. Apparently he gets arms from dubious sources left over after Afghanistan in the 80's."

"Hmm, I knew there was something you weren't telling me." Smith muttered. "That's Bond's case if I remember correctly ma'am."

"Indeed 005; my apologies for the secrecy, but in the wake of the Bolivian scandal trust is becoming a dangerous endeavour. We don't know who's looking over our shoulders. That's why it was necessary to keep a tight lid on the intelligence surrounding the case. Any one of our people could be spying for them, and the fewer trustworthy people that know the better."

"I see," Smith said. "Where is Soref now?"

"007 is looking into that now. We have intelligence that suggests that Soref has been known to operate in, of all places the Philippines and according to Leiter has met with Wolchik in the past."

"QUANTUM and Marathon, hmm, who would have thought it." Smith replied. "What's the deal with that investigation anyway, if I may ask?"

"We've managed to nail some of the smaller fry but they appear to be well connected diplomatically. There isn't a respectable country in the industrialised world left that hasn't done business with them or depended upon them in the past, in some private capacity. We haven't had any luck capturing Mr. White either. Bloody neoliberal capitalism can be a hindrance to freedom sometimes. Building a case against them is tough. We've suspected that they operate through a network of legitimate corporations ranging from big financial houses to the major military industrial giants known as The Cartel.

"And you suspect that Marathon and SITCO could be a part of that network."

"Yes 005," M replied.

"Hmm it's amazing why we haven't broken this 'Cartel' by now." Smith said "A lot of the reason why I was able to smash Al Qaeda in Iraq was because of the fallout from the Le Chiffre affair, you know, that terrorist banker Bond had a run in with at that casino in Montenegro."

"You would think so 005," M replied "However, like I said these men are good at covering their tracks and as it turns out our subject Soref owns a company called Radionica Inc. they specialise in the manufacture of radioactive products from the common smoke alarm to medical devices for treating non-malignant cancers that use, above all things caesium chloride. It uses the exact same process that Hamid developed. He has a manufacturing plant in Mindanao, guarded by Marathon's Security Division."

"And that's significant how?" Smith said.

"Well, according to our analysts in counter-proliferation there is an increasingly strong probability that the Philippines are the missing link in the pipeline, as the government their has strongly supported Iran's bid to develop nuclear energy, and increased its trade links with the country, although lord knows it has been difficult to prove. It's our job to establish a link. If we can prove that companies from The Cartel are directly involved in nuclear terrorism we can break the back of this QUANTUM organisation."

"I suppose it would be easier to drum up international support against Aquino if we could, and we'd also be able to solve our flaming sword problem. The Iranians would buckle under the political pressure." Smith replied.

"Precisely 005, now you're getting the picture. Chop off a snake's head and the body will die."

Smith sat back in her chair and reflected. A contemplative smile appeared on her face. It was beginning to make sense now but there were many questions. All in all the idea of Iran being a mega terror state having nuclear weapons seemed a bit farcical and remote given the economic sanctions, and the ridiculous cardboard mock-ups of stealth fighter planes that the regime used to claim it had advanced defensive capabilities.

Yet still it was a provocative question on the public's mind. It was now out there that an Iranian group had the capability to develop radiological weapons and were not afraid to use them, which still meant that MI6 had to close down the matter, and fast.

"And what exactly do you want me to do ma'am? Smith asked.

M took a sip of bourbon.

"Depends; how good are your interview skills?"

"Well once when I had to do one for the Marines. They made me sit on a rickety old stool that was gyrating about whilst they grilled me alive, something to do with coping with adverse situations. But I passed so I guess you could say I'm OK."

"Good, because I think it's about time you applied for a job Smith, and according to Leiter there's one just become available at Marathon. Apparently, it's down on paper that they are looking for an intelligence analyst/advisor for South East Asia. I'd say more than likely they mean the Philippines. I had a look at the job spec. It says previous experience in a military or a civilian intelligence role is essential. Experience also as an intelligence analyst or a bachelor's degree in political or Islamic studies is highly desirable. So, what do you think? Do you think you'd be up for a little infiltration?"

"I suppose so ma'am. But what if I don't meet their expectations or I don't get the job."

"Don't worry 005 we have our ways of improving your odds. You just make sure that you do meet expectations. Leiter knows them. He has agreed to help us place you inside."

For a brief moment, Smith wondered exactly what "improving her odds" actually meant. Extortion, planting drugs or God knows what else. Underhanded techniques aside, if it was going to help then what did she care. She put any such murky thoughts out of her mind.

"Shall I take a cover this time ma'am?

"I thought you might say that. How does Suzanne Sykes sound to you?"

"S.S. well it certainly has a familiar ring to it." Smith said.

Then all of a sudden, she got a pang for something to smoke. "Christ a cigarette would go down well around about now", She said. She had been tobacco free for two days, but seen as how she couldn't smoke anyway decided that it would be best not to go down that route again. She got a single chewing gum from a pack of Wrigley's extra in her handbag and slowly but strenuously gnashed it.

"I know I am asking a lot of you Susan." M said reassuringly. "It's risky; it could be even dangerous but if anyone can pull this off it's you. If there is a case for the proliferation of terror by the private sector, we must investigate it. According to Leiter, the CIA has had their eyes on one Anna Amore, one of Marathon's Regional team leaders based in Cebu. She has intimate knowledge of Marathons business in the southern Philippines. Her profile indicates no real interest in men despite several advances. I managed to procure a psychiatric report on her as well. Apparently, she had to leave her old job in the NSA after she suffered a bout of depression. The report attributes it to 'closeted homosexual or bisexual tendencies' which she wished to be concealed for familial reasons. Anyway it's all in her dossier."

"What are you suggesting ma'am?" Smith asked, slightly sarcastically.

"I suggest you get close to her as you possibly can Susan."

"That's provided I can get inside of course".

"Don't worry you will. I've come to know you quite a lot since you joined us. You're confident and smart and I have every faith in you. So are you up for it?"

"Yes ma'am, I suppose so".

"Good. Then you can get started today. I want you to get inside Marathon and find out who their connected to. According to the IAEA, all of Filipino nuclear industries check out but we can't make a move unless we have hard evidence. Do what you have to break Miss Amore; it may be our only shot."

"No offence ma'am but I wish you wouldn't use my orientation so flippantly, it just bugs me having to whore myself for England sometimes that's all."

M infuriately rapped on the desk, "Why not 005; it's because you're good at it, that's why. That's the reason you're here, and don't forget all I have to do is make one phone call to Berechurch and you'll be back inside. The military may be tolerant of homosexuality now but still have the charge of perjury hanging over you, that don't forget that it was quashed on the condition that you serve in MI6; so you have a choice Susan, how am I to proceed?"

Smith donned a sullen expression. "Yes ma'am, I'll take the case." She said.

"Good; grab a bite to eat in the restaurant. When you've finished report to Lindsay Chapman's office, 3rd floor, last door on the left. She's one of our HR officers in the IT department. She's has been compiling all the data we have on the inner workings of the Marathon organisation. She will be handling your application. Good luck 005."

"Goodbye ma'am." Susan said, and got up off her seat and proceeded quietly to the door. As she was about to exit M called after her. "Susan…. You know you were cut out for this kind of life from the moment we trained you, and I knew it also; don't run from it, embrace it: it's your destiny."

Smith turned around to face her and said. "I don't believe in that ma'am. I believe we make our own destiny, but sometimes we make poor choices and unfortunately, we live in a world where my kind are persecuted just because we're different. I don't need reminding of that, and I certainly don't need reminding of it from you, good day ma'am."

Smith left the office, plonked her chewing gum in the bin on the way out, and made her way to the on-site restaurant. The facilities at MI6 were top class and the place even sported its own library and subsidized gym. It was lucky for her that they were still serving breakfast. She decided on a hearty continental breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and baked beans, along with sweet black coffee with a tint of milk as well as a small carton of orange juice; a welcome feast that went down well.

With breakfast over it was now time to go see Lindsay Chapman about the status of her application. Chapman was also going to advise her on what she'd have to say at the actual interview. Smith made her way to the third floor and down to the end of the corridor where her office was located. She gently rapped the knuckle of her right index finger three times against the door and it opened

"Hello. Is this Lindsay Chapman's office?"

"Hi you must be Susan. I've been expectin' ya please come in". Chapman was in her early thirties, was half-black and spoke in a Liverpudlian accent. She wore her frizzy brown hair tied up in a bun. She had moved to London over a year ago and the company had been very helpful in finding her accommodation and getting her settled. Smith entered the office and Chapman showed her a seat.

"So Lindsay I guess you've got the lowdown on this Job?"

"I 'ave indeed; as M has probably already told ya there is a position come up for an intelligence analyst at Marathon. Thankfully it just so happens that international applicants may apply. They will be recruiting European candidates from their base of operations in Heidelberg Germany close to the US Army garrison. Apparently they operate a logistics service for the military and have their European headquarters there."

"Great stuff, just exactly how have I been put forward for this?" Smith asked.

"We've created a profile using your cover name on the CIS database so you won't 'ave any problems with background checks. We've also included you're experience as a combat intelligence officer for the Marines. You have some good qualities that are highly marketable. For example, ya have down here on your CV as having presentation experience from ya college placement. They'll like that?"

"Yeah that's partially why I got the job in combat intelligence."

"Good, make sure ya sell that."

"One question; how do I cover up the nine month gap where I went to Iraq".

"Don't worry. We've given you a cover story as a low level analyst with a British firm; Mortis Defence Solutions Ltd, which I've provided fo' ya ta study. They're one of our front companies. They were very cooperative with us since many of their analysts are ex-service; think ya'll be able to handle it?"

"I think I can do that". Smith replied keenly.

"Good stuff Susan. If ya want I can supply ya with a list of standard interview questions as well as a job spec and the CV we've compiled fo' ya so ya can match them up."

"That would be great".

"No problem Susan. Oh and just one more thing befo' ya go. Keep ya phone 'andy the next couple o' days. We made your CV as interestin' as possible so ya can expect a call."

Chapman and Smith spent the next 20 minutes going over the details of the questions. It was clear that on studying them that the interview panel was going do their level best to exploit any fear or nervousness. She contended that there was no room for the slightest shred of doubt or negativity. All she had to do was do what a spy does best; soft peddle. At the back of her mind there still was a bit of a worry; the worry of having her cover blown.

With that, she briefly cast her mind back to her anti-interrogation training when she first joined the service. They gave all of the candidates involved some information on an imaginary contact, which they had to protect. Then when they least expected it, it was arranged by the instructors that they were to be kidnapped. Indeed how could anyone who has been through that kind of ordeal forget it? Her handlers placed her in uncomfortable stress positions with her face pressed against a wall as well as water boarding her for six hours straight before she gave up everything she knew, all for the meagre reward of a ham sandwich. Still, it reminded her that there are worse things in life than job interviews, and anything you can walk away from unscathed is a good thing.

"Sounds like I'm going to be grilled alive". Susan said light-heartedly.

"Don't worry Susan you can do it, you just "ave to keep a cool head and warm feet so to speak". Smith smiled. Behind the jovial façade, however the gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. She was going to have a huge task ahead of her but she figured that anything she could walk away from alive, irrespective of performance was manageable.

"Alright, I suppose I could give it a shot. I've got nothing to lose, accept maybe the mission". She said jokingly.

"Good stuff Susan, that's the spirit. I'll spare a prayer for ya".

Susan smiled wincingly at the idea of prayer. She conceded to herself that affirmative action and good old common-sense positivity was the best way to go. She collected her various documents into a brown A4 envelope, cordially thanked Chapman, and left the office.

With nothing really much else doing that day, Smith decided to go to her on-site office in order to casually go over some of the documents she had been given, making it a point to destroy the more sensitive ones related to her cover. She did some reviewing, including going through Anna Amore's file. She took out her photo and immediately, a warm smile appeared on her face at the image looking back at her.

Amore was American, probably in her late twenties/early thirties. Her skin was a tantalizing light brown, indicating that she was possibly of 2nd or 3rd generation Greek or near Middle Eastern origin. Her long wavy ebony hair flowed over her shoulders. It perfectly complimented the soft, high cheekbones of her face, together with dazzling hazel eyes. Smith wondered briefly, what it would like to kiss those full rose lips and imagined ravaging a perfectly formed body she had pictured in her mind. She hoped that she held up to scrutiny in real life and then reluctantly shredded the photo.

At around two, she had cannibalised most if not all of the facts of the case. She took the rest of the day off and drove back to the apartment and the first thing she made for when she got inside was her phone. She smiled to herself as she went through the nine missed calls, all from M and with glee, she said to herself, "Hmm, the bitch must have been pretty pissed off by at least the seventh".

. She took a break for some dinner at around 3:30, and by 4:10, she got a phone call. The number had an international prefix. Could this be the call she had been waiting for? The caller spoke in an American accent, and much to her annoyance, it was the kind of false 'have a nice day' nasally kind of accent you'd expect from anyone working in a professional secretarial or call centre environment.

"Hello may I speak to Suzanne Sykes please"

"Speaking".

"Hello Ms Sykes. My name is Roberta Adams; I'm a human resource manager for Marathon Incorporated. I work in the company's European division here in Germany. As I understand it you sent in a resume to us not so long ago applying for the Intelligence analyst position and wondered if you would be interested in attending an interview here with us?"

"Oh yes of course", Smith answered eagerly. "If the position is still open that is? And you can go ahead and call me Suzanne if you like".

"Very well Suzanne. As you may or may not know we have been interviewing candidates from Europe and America for the past week now and your resume stood out as one for our shortlist. We're eager to fill the position quickly. If successful, you will be required to start immediately. With that in mind, may I ask are you currently employed; do you require a period of notice?"

"Well currently I'm unemployed at the moment. I finished up about two months ago. I was in Iraq helping to counter insurgent threats to oil fields, oversaw thirty successful cases while I was there."

"I see very well, and do you have up to date references?"

"All taken care of, just contacted my supervisor in Mortis just now. She said she'd be more than delighted to give me one." Smith replied.

"And you have international intelligence clearance".

"Yes of course, I'm fully vetted. If you mind my asking Ms Adams, could I have a more detailed synopsis as to what this Job entails?"

"Well basically the job is based in the Southern Philippines. We'll be operating from our regional offices in Cebu City and on the island of Mindanao. We are looking for someone with an Intelligence analysis background. We will be working on countering terrorist threats to the local provincial government from the MILF: the Moro Islamic Liberation Front and help to track down key members and bring them to justice. The details of course must remain classified. If successful, you will earn a handsome stipend of $86,000 per year plus travel expenses as well as top class health and dental benefits. So, are you still interested?"

"Absolutely, I'd be happy to share my expertise with you," Smith replied. "And how soon you will be holding the interviews?"

"We've booked you down for 2:00pm on this coming Monday the 1st of September at our headquarters here in Heidelberg. Can you make it?"

"Yes I believe I can."

"Excellent, I'll send you an email with directions to our building. You will also have to travel to Germany of your own expense but if you are successful, we will recoup the cost. Good luck Suzanne and I look forward to seeing you on the day."

"Ok Ms Adams thanks for getting back to me, goodbye".

"Goodbye".

She was going to take it easy for the next few days to review her approach to the interview. She sifted through her wardrobe to pick an appropriate suit to wear for the occasion and after much deliberation, she picked her best grey skirt suit she ordered from Saks Fifth Avenue. Now all that was left was for to select a nice blouse, buttoned in order to show a minute yet appetizing amount of cleavage for any male member of the panel. This coupled with a little charm and of course her training in Neuro Linguistic Programming afforded to her by the good folks in MI6 and she was on her way. This was the big one; she could feel it. The best or perhaps the worst was yet to come. However, for now she was thinking of the positives would have to play this one out one day at a time. As she made herself a well-deserved coffee she smiled and confidently reminded herself that patience, time and a bit of sheer brass neck eventually brought the snail to Jerusalem.


	6. Chapter 6

_CHAPTER 6_

_Female Trouble in Paradise_

_It was now after 23:10 at night and amidst a small crowd of tanned Filipino faces, Joel Luis Alejandro stood patiently in waiting for Korean Airlines flight 631 in the Arrivals department of Mactan Cebu International Airport. The flight in question carried Suzanne Sykes, Susan Smith's alter ego. She had successfully landed the job and had just finished her two-week induction at Marathon's Heidelberg headquarters two days previously. Alejandro was indifferent to her or her duplicitous profession and looked as if he was ready to collapse because he to stand there waiting for so long. To him, as a taxi driver and chauffeur of twenty years' experience with several mouths to feed, tonight was no different from any other night, except for the few extra pesos he would earn for being her driver. Working all sort of ungodly hours for meagre pay tended to be the mantra in the Philippines. _

_He was a man in his forties with a mildly overweight build. His tight haircut with its receding hairline did little to hide the curvature of his skull and his age battered face gave the impression of a man who had to work hard all his life. He had now been waiting for over an hour and was beginning to feel a little weary when finally the arrivals door opened, pouring out people like a human floodgate. Amongst the passengers of flight 631 was his jaded looking client, trundling along with her bag-laden trolley in front of her. It had been a relentless 22 hour flight with three connections that seemed endless; first from Frankfurt to Beijing via Air China, then from Beijing to Seoul, and finally from Seoul to the Philippines._

_Relishing the thought of a nice hotel bed, she scanned the waiting crowd for any sign of her ride, and there out of the corner of her eye she spotted Joel Alejandro, holding a small piece of poster board with the glorious cover name SUZANNE SYKES scribbled on it in capital letters with permanent marker. She instantly gravitated towards his position. _

_"__Hi. I'm Suzanne Sykes. You must be my driver" She said._

_"__yees Eh am Joel, Weelcam to the Feelapinz". _

_Smith proffered a tired handshake. "Good to meet you Joel". She said._

_ "You mast be tyeerd after your flieet?" _

_"__Well I've better days on airplanes" Smith joked. Alejandro of course, was slow to pick on European humour due to his scant English. _

_"__Ah I see, where or yu staiying?" he asked. _

_"__the Crown Regency,"_

_ "ah very good, Fallow me pleece"._

_Alejandro offered to take Smith's baggage trolley out to the exit and she gladly accepted. The arrivals exit resembled a kind of concrete cavern that was claustrophobically constructed. There was very little space for parking and taxis tended to line up outside the entrance. Smith got in the back of the car, which was essentially, a relatively cheap Asian knock-off of a Ford people carrier that was about two or three years old. Alejandro loaded the luggage into the boot, climbed into the driver's seat and took off towards her long awaited destination at the Crown Regency, which was one of the best hotels in Cebu, or at least in Mactan Island. _

_As she caught a glimpse of Lapu Lapu City at night on the way over through tired eyes, the thought of being here in such an exotic location filled her with a mixture of excitement and of guilt. God only knew what her new bosses in conjunction with her so-called freedom loving allies had planned for these already desperately afflicted people. Still Lapu Lapu boasted a vibrant nightlife that Smith had been dying to check it out since she arrived. Business first however, the spectre of the spy industry hanging over her head the whole time. _

_They arrived at the Regency on Maximo Patalinghug Avenue several minutes later. At first glance, the place didn't suggest a high quality hotel experience at all to Smith. It was a terribly dull building, and the letter G of the blue neon sign failed to light up. Appearances can be deceiving however, and tomorrow she was going to meet with her supervisor Anna Amore, but that was a different kettle-of-fish entirely. Tonight was all about the comfort of knowing she was sleeping in a four star bed, a luxury ill afforded by most of the natives. _

_The following morning Smith wasn't due to meet Anna Amore until around 11:00 that morning. The hotel of course had many distractions from a luxury spa, a gym, and an indoor miniature golf course mainly employed as a gimmick for tourists. After breakfast, Susan, still a bit jetlagged, wandered down to the spa in order to pamper herself with a luxurious Indonesian message to kill time. _

_Amore had arranged that Smith was to meet with her in the lobby, and given the officiousness of her voice on the telephone, Smith was to be punctual. Smith ignored the prickly virgin act, and put on her elegant business suit she had wore to the interview. She tied up her hair in a messy yet fashionable bun and made her way there ten minutes ahead of schedule. There the concierge brought her coffee while she waited, and she relaxed into a copy of __Vogue __magazine that lay on the table in front of her. _

_At close to the time of the meeting, a beautiful young professional woman entered the hotel lobby. She wore a sandstone coloured suit and skirt. She approached the front desk identifying herself as Anna Amore. Smith had instructed the receptionist beforehand to direct Amore to where she was sitting. Susan looked up briefly from her magazine. It was hard not to notice Amore, and those splendid curvaceous lines. She was indeed a sultry looking female in the flesh and wore her glorious wavy hair long, just the way Smith liked it. From the moment Smith laid eyes on her, she was enamoured by her. Amore was now coming towards her and Smith folded the magazine away and got up off her seat to greet her. _

_ "__So you must the new girl they sent down fresh from Heidelberg?" Amore said "My name is Anna; Anna Amore. I'm the company's regional director of security and intelligence". _

_ "__Charmed", Smith replied, proffering a handshake. "I'm Suzanne; I'm looking forward to working with you."_

_ Anna exchanged the gesture, albeit shyly. "And I you Ms. Sykes, Well I hope you're good at your job because this assignment will require a little more than a pretty face."_

_"__Well I'm flattered Ms. Amore". Smith said. "But I can assure you I'm up to the task. By the way I prefer to be on first name terms with my employers, so having said that is alright if we drop the formalities and I call you Anna."_

_Anna responded with a less cordial tone." Very well, if you like, provided we each understand each other's roles. What I'm about to tell is sensitive information. I've reserved one of the conference rooms on the second floor, Shall we go?"_

_ "After you." Smith said_

_Although Smith found Amore's demeanour a little bit on the prickly side, something about her wasn't quite right. According to MI6's dossier on her, she was a brilliant professional. She spent six years working as an analyst in the NSA prior to accepting the Job at Marathon. In a short space of time, she had worked her way up to one of the company's top positions. She was the daughter of an Italian American mother and a strict Turkish father in the Muslim manner. Like Smith, Amore's parents had divorced because of her father's abusive behaviour. _

_Despite many advances, she seemed to take little or no interest in men and had no known boyfriends. She seemed to be acting out either because she was a virgin starved of any kind of meaningful sexual activity or worse yet, was repressing a sexual orientation towards the same sex because she didn't want her bosses, her peers or even her family to know. _

_However, one can only hide one's orientation for so long. People tend to notice these things after a while and running from the truth of oneself can be an oppressive prison in a tabooed society, a factor Smith was all-too aware of in her own world. _

_She could see now where M was coming from and why she chose Smith for this mission. According to M all that was left, to do was break down her defences and get her to step to the all-girl team, get the information and go, the very thought of which disgusted Smith to a certain degree. It was a common misconception to ignorant people that all bisexual women were merely harlots and experimenters, and that they would seduce anyone at the drop of a hat and that somehow Smith's sexual orientation was merely an 'asset' to MI6. Still, M had a point. Everything about Amore was utterly seductive, and Smith was indeed good at seduction. _

_They came to the small conference room on the second floor and as Amore jiggled the key to unlock the door, Smith got a glimpse of that perfectly formed body and fine rear-end. She followed Amore inside the conference room and Amore took a seat behind the elegantly varnished dark oak boardroom table. Smith sat opposite her new boss, and, like a pupil infatuated with a new substitute teacher, eagerly awaited the details of briefing. Amore had a briefcase with her and out of it; she pulled a series of folders with a top-secret sign stamped in red ink on the cover of each one. She opened one up in front of her. _

_ "Ok __Suzanne__, The person of interest that we have been contracted to track down is one Mohammed Mangurun; a leading terrorist chief involved with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front: the MILF. I'm sure they briefed you about them in Heidelberg."_

_ "Yes, they operate mainly out of the Bangsamoro region of Mindanao and to a lesser extent the Sulu Islands. They mainly are involved in assassinations, kidnappings and beheadings of government officials and some Filipino Marines. They are also responsible for the bombing of Davao airport in 2003. I think that's about it Anna."_

_ Amore turned the dossier over and handed it to Smith. "This is Mangurun. It's been suggested by Filipino Intelligence that this individual was the chief architect behind the Davao bombing in which the opposition leader's nephew was killed. He has vowed to track down Mangurun at all costs, out of revenge I suppose. However, it hasn't been easy. Mangurun has been on the run ever since. He is seen as almost like the Osama Bin Laden of the Philippines and is considered a hero and a martyr in the MILF."_

_ "Do they have any theories as to where he might be holed up?" Smith asked._

_"__Filipino intelligence has reason to believe that there is a connection between the MILF and Jemaah Islamiah; the Indonesian group with links to Al Qaeda who were responsible for the Bali bombing. They believe he may be harboured somewhere in Indonesia, although this hasn't been proven conclusively. It's your job as intelligence analyst to sift through all the intelligence reports the CIA and Filipino Intelligence have compiled and come up with a strategy for the local provincial authorities leading to his whereabouts and subsequent capture."_

_ " I can see that this is going to be quite a tall order Anna, but I'm up to the challenge After all, they didn't hire me for my good looks now did they?''_

_Amore frowned at Smith's jibe and didn't take long in asserting her dominance. "Good because we're not paying you $86,000 a year for sightseeing. I hope you're not going to cause me any trouble, Ms Sykes?" She said. _

_"__Of course not Anna," Smith replied. "And will you please call me Suzanne?"_

_"__Alright Suzanne you've made you're point, but I hope your work ethic is as good as your charm. According to Heidelberg, your response to our training and induction has been excellent but don't expect that alone to win you any brownie points. If you want to go far in this company you're going to have to put in the work, so I expect only the best from you, understood?" _

_ "Perfectly Anna, my apologies I assume you have all the details of the case with you."_

_ "Yes it's all here in these briefing files and dossiers. We'll be working out of the offices of our South East Asia headquaters in Mactan Newtown. I'll leave these here for you to study for the rest of the day. You start tomorrow. Keep these files in your hotel safe at all times. I take it you have already changed the combination to your own code."_

_ "yes of course. We wouldn't want them falling into the wrong hands. You never know what some of the hotel staff is like in these poorer countries." _

_ "Good, then I'll leave these with you. I'll see you tomorrow then, 8:30 sharp. We're located at 8 Newtown boulevard in the 10__th__ floor of the Megaworld tower close to the Shangri La resort. Don't worry about transport we'll have our driver Joel pick you up again."_

_ "One more question Anna, why locate in Lapu Lapu when our contract is in Mindanao"._

_ "We have other interests in the Philippines but that doesn't concern you. Your concern is showing up on time and doing your job, OK" _

_ "Very well Anna I can take a hint. See you tomorrow then". _

_"__Goodbye Ms Sykes". With that, Smith, feeling slightly awkward, shook hands._

_Amore left the room soon after, and the minute the door closed behind her, Smith let out a sigh followed by a sneer. "nice going Susan", she uttered to herself, as if to suggest that somehow she had put her foot it in with the way she handled Anna. However, Smith didn't beat herself up for too long, after all, she liked a bit of fight in a potential lover. _

_At around lunchtime Smith decided to take in her new surroundings and in the meantime go downtown to find an internet café to report to M over Universal Exports' secure website. She didn't trust local Wi-Fi networks enough to use her Smartphone. _

_A taxi took her to Lapu Lapu public market located in the barangay of Basak, which she had always wanted to see since the beginning of her trip. Luckily, he turned on his meter. It was common in these parts for taxi drivers to charge double rates to foreigners if they could get away with it. Taxis were really the only efficient public transport system in the Philippines for foreigners to avail of. All the major travel advisors usually discourage even the most competent drivers from driving in the country. The authorities usually hold westerners at fault according to the law in the event of an accident. Still that didn't bother Smith, who survived driving in Iraq, and who would eventually make transport arrangements of her own at the right time. _

_The routes into the inner city were thronged with a mixture of traffic ranging from modern looking sedans, to Jeepneys beautifully decorated with floral designs as well as the motorised tri cycles used by the locals. Filipino's drove passionately, and the flow of traffic didn't seem to obey any discernible western style rules for overtaking or changing lanes. _

_Smith got out at the nearest convenient place and paid the fare along with a small tip for the driver. She slung her handbag over her shoulder in a manner that made it difficult for pickpockets and purse-snatchers to take advantage. Filipino markets were often thronged with such nefarious characters and kids who roamed the streets looking for fair game. _

_The markets in downtown Lapu Lapu were a wonderfully exotic place. There were fishmongers cooking street cuisine and stalls were one could avail of a wide variety of rice dishes of Chinese and native origin. Smith availed of one of these and had some traditional rice porridge and Lumpia; a Filipino take on a Chinese style spring roll. After her meal, she wandered around the various stalls selling a variety of western style goods. Many of these were cheap knock-offs of designer labels, legal and otherwise. However, it was still possible to get a good quality product if you knew how to look for it. Smith managed to pick up a handsome Rolex watch for just 10000 pesos after a bit of haggling. _

_After her few leisure hours taking in the sights and sounds of the market, Smith asked one of the vendors where she could find an internet café. The vendor told her that it was several blocks away and advised her not to walk there alone. Instead, she chose to take a tri cycle. _

_She called out to one on the street and one pulled over driven by young bare-chested Filipino in his twenties. As the tricycle careered its way through the narrow streets, Smith caught a first-hand glimpse of the extreme poverty of the barangay. Rows of dishevelled corrugated iron shanties that looked like poorly constructed garden sheds stretched out for miles as far as the eye could see. Most native Filipinos earned around $3 a day and paid an average of 1500 pesos a month for these so-called apartments, outside of electric bills, and they were no bigger than the size of an average western kitchen. It was common for one of these to accommodate whole families at a time, and a lot of them were surrounded by rubbish dumps and attracted mosquitoes. They were indeed a startling contrast from the four star luxuries Smith had become accustomed to during her stay here._

_The exotic charm of this country intrigued her. A small part of her wondered how much of this poverty had been exacerbated by years of so called western 'development' but then she realised that despite the politics and economics of the situation, people carried on regardless. After all, not everything is measured in terms of GNP, especially not resilience of the human spirit. _

_The tricycle pulled up outside the internet café and Smith gave the driver his fee of 50 pesos. It was the only two-story building in the street. It was beside a ramshackle shop with faded Coca Cola sign above the door. As she walked in, she saw that the place was busy. Many people in the area seemed to use the place to update their social media because they couldn't afford computers. There were also one or two girls communicating over Skype via webcam, possibly chatting to relatives who emigrated or perhaps potential suitors. _

_Smith was familiar with the rumours about the romance scammers operating out of the country; pretty Filipinas looking to take advantage of vulnerable western men, then, within a couple of months of the online relationship, concocting the sob story of the sick uncle or relative, and how they require money to buy medicine or for to support their families._

_Smith didn't concern herself with such petty troubles and found a quiet, secluded booth upstairs away from prying eyes. She glanced around her to see if the coast was clear and began to login to her universal exports webmail using a ten-digit password comprised of two capital letters, two lower case, three numbers and three special characters. It was highly unlikely anybody would be able to hack it. The webmail was frequently used by MI6 operatives and contractors working abroad to communicate messages to 'Legoland' and was part of the company's secure intranet. Smith addressed the message to M's personal email. The message read:_

_Dear aunty _

_Made contact with the target and am settling in. commencing Philippine project tomorrow. Will advise in the coming days on any future developments as they arise._

_005_

_Smith knew that M would wait with baited breath at any communication she would send. If anything went wrong it could be a disaster for the service. It's not everyday allies get to spy on each other's activities, particularly one of their most dependent contractors. Still, getting to Amore was a tantalizing prospect in many ways. She had beauty and connections, if only Smith could break down her bitch-act a little. _

_ Over the next few hours, Susan took in some Mactan Islands beautiful, unspoiled tropical beaches. The water sports in this part of the world, such as scuba diving, canoeing and sailing were top class and great value for money. She would definitely make it a point to come visit here again next time she was on leave. In addition to this Smith visited Mactan Shrine, a bronze statue devoted to the Muslim warrior chieftain for whom the city of Lapu Lapu is named after. Filipinos are especially proud of their national heroes and while she was their, there just so happened to be a re-enactment of the famous battle in which Lapu Lapu defeated the invading Spanish armies of Ferdinand Magellan on the very same site in 1521. It was indeed fascinating for the average foreigner to watch. _

_ After the show, Smith bought an imitation __Kampilan__, a native Filipino sword used by warriors in the middle ages then headed back to the hotel. It was about five in the evening. She headed for the safe in her room that thankfully nobody tampered with, extracted the Mangurun files, poured herself a scotch on the rocks and prepared for a long evening. _

_ As she examined the case files, most of the intelligence work seemed to be centred on a possible link between Islamists in Indonesia and MILF in the Philippines. According to the files it was reported that in 2004, Detachment 88; the anti-terror squad of the Indonesian National Police, received a tip-off of a terror cell operating out the Sumatran province of Aceh, the birthplace of Islam in South East Asia. The Informant gave a description of a Filipino national matching Mangurun's appearance that frequented the cell's base of operation. From then on, Filipino Intelligence undertook a massive operation in conjunction with Indonesian authorities to find him and break the ties between both countries networks. _

_Smith studied the reports of each operation conducted by Detachment 88 exhaustively that evening and found nothing concrete. Most of the information on Mangurun came from a handful of unreliable rogue sources who were either looking for a payday or immunity from prosecution. The details were a lot to take in, in one night. By 9:00, Smith's brain was beginning to become a little bit taxed. She took a small half hour break for coffee and a snack down in the restaurant to clear her mind. It was when she settled her bill that she suddenly had an epiphany._

_Smith knew from her own experience that most Islamists operate in cells independent of each other and that one good way to monitor them was to follow the funding, which wasn't always easy. Islamist groups tend to use the ancient __Hawala __system of Islamic banking, which is fast and affordable. It also incurs no interest since usury is against Islamic law, and operates under the radar of the official promissory records and exchange rates of conventional currency markets. The secret service pay close attention to __Hawala __networks and have identified several brokers operating around the world since working with the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan during Operation Cyclone. _

_ Re-energised after her break, Smith set back to work searching the Mangurun case files for the names of Hawala brokers connected the MILF that might be familiar to MI6. It was now 11:25 in the evening and after an exhaustive search only a single name popped out at her, one Raja Zayed Mir, a man of Pakistani origin. _

_According to MI6 records and undoubtedly Marathon's and the CIA's, Mir's uncle Mustafa ran an Islamic relief fund which was located in London and under investigation by the security service MI5. The fund frequently used Mir's services as a broker, and Smith recognised the name because the case was passed to MI6 as being a possible funding link to certain Al Qaeda operatives in Iraq, which she was assigned to target. Mir was a sly customer who tended to operate through intermediaries to do his dealings. No one has ever yet been able to build a case against him. Could it be that he was connected to Islamists in this part of the world as well, maybe even Mangurun?_

_A smile swept across her face and Smith was beginning to beam at the prospect that she might actually succeed in this new assignment, even though it was under false pretences. She was particularly good at this game and she knew it. She loved every minute of it. The Intelligence business gave her a thrill like no other. All she had to do now was be a good girl for Anna Amore and play along; or did she? With a glint in her eye and a desire for sexual conquest she said to herself_

_"__All in good time Susan. All in good time." _


	7. Chapter 7

_CHAPTER 7_

_The Things We Do For Love (Or For England)_

_The white Chrysler 300C promptly pulled up outside the front of the Crown Regency at exactly 07:45 on the button the following morning. Smith emerged from the front entrance approximately five to eight minutes later, briefcase in hand; ready to begin her first day as Suzanne Sykes, Intelligence Analyst with Marathon Corporation. As with any new job, she was naturally brimming with anticipation and excitement; she was in high spirits. This was despite the dreary cloudy sky that threatened dismal rain, which seemed to ruin the whole tropical atmosphere of the place. It was about 25°C and the forecast that morning accurately predicted the kind of sticky, humid precipitation synonymous with this part of the world._

_ Smith approached the car at the driver's side and rapped on the window. Joel Alejandro was on duty again today, and having picked her up from the airport when she first arrived, he rolled down the window and greeted her jubilantly. _

_ "gud murning Suzanne, neece to see yu again," Joel said._

_"__Good morning Joel. How's life been treating you since I last saw you?"_

_ "gud thenk you are you reedy fur your furst dai?"_

_"__I suppose I'm ready as I'll ever be Joel. Although it's a pity it couldn't have been on a better day weather-wise. Looks like it's going to be torrential today" _

_ Alejandro chuckled. "eef you theenk deece is bad you should be har during typhoon season."_

_ Smith smiled. "I suppose your right. In that case I'd better get in and stop complaining then hadn't I." _

_Smith got into the car at the passenger side catching a little drizzle before the onslaught of rain and belted up. Without any further delay, they headed off to face the heavy morning traffic. Joel was indeed a competent driver of many years experience and negotiated the roads as confidently as you would except from a man of his experience. He could also handle crazy pedestrians very well and exchanged his fair share of one-finger salutes from Jeepney drivers in his day. Traditional road rage tended to be frowned upon in the Philippines and use of the horn was strictly regulated by the authorities. _

_ Smith got to making small talk with Joel on the way to work. It turned out that he was a former taxi driver who got into the more profitable private transport business. He was forty-eight years old and had a wife and three children. He was one of the few Filipinos to have a three-roomed house, which even by western standards would still be considered a shanty. Still, he made a very comfortable living for his family. He co-ran the business with his wife Jocelyn and had a number of people employed by him. He himself didn't like the confines of an office and preferred to be out on the roads doing what he knew best, leaving the clerical work to his wife, although he did pitch in on occasion. _

_ At first, the business was centred around limo hire for rich weddings but then slowly it branched into corporate work, ferrying around western corporate dignitaries coming to visit the factories in the area. that kind of work became the bread and butter of the organisation so the contract with Marathon was very valuable to Alejandro's business. It provided enough money to allow his eldest daughter Rosario to immigrate to Japan to find a well-paid engineering job. Contracts from wealthy western companies also enabled Jacqueline and John Steven, his two younger children to have good education and healthcare which most Filipino strain to afford. Still he was grateful for his lot and as expected; the Alejandro's were all devout Catholics and regular mass goers. _

_ Smith liked Alejandro, he was an honest, harmless individual, and to a certain extent, she was proud of herself. Being in the spy business, or at the very least being in the dirty operations that had often little to do with spying; Smith had been trained to be cryptic and deceptive when talking about her personal details to strangers. She pulled it off so naturally you would think she was just a normal girl. She also congratulated herself as she got a good deal of personal information out of Alejandro on the trip over. As a honey trap, it had also been part of her training to use her charm get people to open up and besides she needed to warm up a little for the task in hand. _

_ The car pulled up around 8 Newtown boulevard, a relatively new development by Philippine real estate giant Megaworld, and in 2008, the whole area around Mactan shrine had been earmarked by the provincial authorities for development into condominiums and skyscrapers. The project was ongoing and hadn't been fully developed, hindered somewhat by the emerging global financial crisis. _

_ Still, a few notable office blocks had been built there, including the Megaworld tower, of which Marathon had bought an entire floor for 7,000,000 pesos: a relatively inexpensive acquisition for a western corporation._

_It was now around 8:20 by the time the car pulled up outside the building. It was beginning to rain a torrent and fork lightning flashed across the sky accompanied by the booming crash of thunder. _

_ Smith bid Joel goodbye and got out of the car, immediately dashing towards the front entrance with nothing but her briefcase over her head to protect against the elements. It was flimsy protection to say the least and by the time she had arrived at reception she had gotten a little bit soaked. It didn't really bother her that much, although she was relieved to get inside and had a few minutes to dry herself off in the ladies' room. _

_ After a few minutes, and still not adequately dry, smith took the elevator to the 10__th__ floor out of which Marathon Philippines operated. The elevator gave out a characteristic chime followed by a drab pre-recorded, monotone male voice announcing that it had reached its final destination. The doors swung open to reveal a beautiful mahogany lined reception area manned by a pretty, Asian receptionist. _

_ "Good morning". Smith said "Suzanne Sykes to see Anna Amore". _

_"__Of course, down the corridor through the office area, then turn right and it's your fifth door on your left."_

_Smith thanked the receptionist and followed her instructions implicitly. At first glance, the place could easily have passed for the headquarters of a swanky, high-class American law firm or financial institution. Her impression of the company was pretty much the same as when she had first visited Germany and for a moment, she was thinking the same ugly thoughts: just how far did the influence of this company reach, and what kind of operations were they into. _

_Smith hoped that Anna Amore was in a better, more agreeable mood than when she first met her the previous day. If she was going to get close to her and find out Marathon's true intentions, she was going to have to impress. She took comfort in the fact that she came prepared with a few tricks up her sleeve. _

_ Smith knocked on the door to Anna Amore's office and the sound of her voice emanated from inside, muffled by the wooden door. It was the sound of her new boss bidding her to enter. _

_ "Ah Suzanne you made it, good."_

_"__Of course Anna it wouldn't do to be late on the first day now would it". _

_ "that it wouldn't Ms Sykes that it wouldn't. I take it you've been busy researching the case last night." _

_ "yes" Smith replied. "I've been doing a little digging alright. In fact I've come up with the bones of an idea which might come in useful to us". _

_ Amore beamed slightly. "well good, pull up a chair and we can discuss it."_

_Smith could tell that she was in a better mood this morning for some reason. For a moment, she thought it might have something to with the fact that the day before Smith demonstrated that she was no pushover or perhaps that secretly Amore may respect or even like her. Either way it was a good thing, as such gestures, however small can lead to greater things. Then Amore gestured the olive branch Smith was waiting for. _

_ "Listen, about yesterday, I apologize for being abrasive to you. It's not the kind of first impression one ideally wants to make I know," Amore said._

_ "That's quite alright Anna. I was a little out of order my self. I should have remembered my place, so water under the bridge: if that's ok with you of course"._

_Amore smiled and the pair shook hands. "thank you Suzanne, now let's get down to business shall we. So what are your first impressions" Amore asked. "What's this big idea you've come up with". _

_ " __Well this might be a bit of a hunch but do you have access to the CIA's counterterrorist records, specifically pertaining to funding of Al Qaeda linked groups."_

_ "yes we do, exactly what are you suggesting?" _

_"__Well as an Intel analyst I've learned over the years that a handy way of tracking down terror suspect is how they handle their funds". _

_ "interesting," Amore replied "then I think we may need to consult with Victor Mayhew on this one, he's my boss here."_

_Amore picked up the receiver to her handset and called Victor's office. _

_ "Victor hi, it's Anna. I have Suzanne Sykes here, the new British girl beside me, are you ready to come down." _

_Smith could clearly make out Mayhew's voice on the other end of the line. He sounded like a man in his sixties. _

_"__he'll be down shortly". Amore replied hanging up the receiver. Smith detected a certain dislike on Amore's part for Mayhew. With that she took advantage of the situation to score brownie points with Amore. _

_ "So what's this victor guy like to work with?" she asked. _

_"__You'll get to meet him soon enough, although I'd watch myself around him if I were you"._

_ "Oh how so?" Smith asked._

_"__He has a tendency to be fond of pretty girls such as you: gives me the creeps sometimes. But apart from that he's good at what he does"._

_ "Oh that kind eh, I'm not going to have to make coffee for him and have my backside pinched every day am I?"_

_ Amore chuckled "No, I think he's a little smarter than your average old fashioned chauvinist. He might try to come on to you though if he fancies you."_

_ "Well then it's a good thing I put down martial arts on my CV, or resume as you yanks call it". _

_ A knock on the door was heard soon after. "Come in." beckoned Amore. _

_With that a short stoutish figure of a man entered; it was Victor Mayhew, Marathon's regional general manager. Smith had guessed his age correctly. To look at him at first glance he was thickset but not overtly obese. He was not a good-looking man by any means. A thick coma of dirty, aged auburn hair ran over his head and almost looked like a tupee. His plump face boasted a flat uninteresting nose. He's eyes were shielded by a thick glasses that looked like they belonged in the early 60's._

_ Smith's first impression of the man, even before he opened his mouth was that his biggest hero was either Donald Trump or Ronald Reagan. Possibly, he was a multiple divorcee with an eye for young skirt, and that every time he said, "I love you" to a woman at the altar, a legal document was produced, immediately followed by the phrase, "now sign this"._

_ "Good morning Anna". He uttered in his southern American drawl. _

_"__Victor". she replied in a reticent tone. One could easily sense the awkwardness between the two. It was as if Victor tried it on with her in the past but was flatly rejected. He turned to Smith with more optimism. _

_ "Ah you must be Suzanne". He said kissing her hand. "It's so nice to have a charming, beautiful young lady such as yourself working for us on the team. I've only been to England once myself. I love your accents. We must get together sometime and you can tell me all about the place."_

_ Smith smiled wincingly and removed her hand gently. "Thank you Mr. Mayhew, but I don't think Anna would approve; business before pleasure after all."_

_"__Of course, of course and please call me Victor. We like to be informal around here; after all we're one big happy family, Isn't that right Anna?''_

_ "That's right Victor". Amore responded falsely._

_"__Now listen Suzanne, you have any problems settling in you holler out to me, you hear."_

_ "Thank you Victor I'll try to remember that." _

_"__Oh I know you will". He said enthusiastically. Amore could sense that Smith was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. With that she interjected. _

_ "Suzanne has some insight regarding the Mangurun case." _

_"__Very good," Victor responded "A go-getter from the start; I like that; so what are your thoughts". _

_ "Well I was just talking to Anna about possibly using any intelligence on Hawala banking networks operating in this region. After all even terrorists need money to live on, and sooner or later they'll have to come up for air. It's a bit of a long shot but I think if we could whittle it down to a few specific couriers acting as intermediaries for brokers , maybe we could catch the bastard; at least that's my theory anyway."_

_ Victor beamed at the idea. "Marvellous Suzanne, marvellous. Beauty and brains combined; we certainly know how to pick the best, don't we Anna."_

_ "that's all very well", Anna interjected somewhat sceptically. "but we have to make sure the data adds up. A case like this could take weeks possibly months and it could lead to nothing. We should also entertain other ideas as well." _

_ "Such as what" Victor exclaimed "we've gone down the traditional routes for weeks now and still we haven't come up with anything solid to go on"_

_ "yes Victor but…."_

_"__No buts Anna, I want you to get working on this idea with Suzanne immediately. Need I remind you that our clients are looking for as speedy a resolution to this case as soon as possible, our business here depends upon it, understood?" _

_ "yes Victor". Amore said defeated. "you're the boss". _

_"__Good: so Suzanne what is it that you need from me." _

_ "Access to the CIA's data on terrorist finance, I've heard that's a good place to start. Also I may need a full dossier on Raja Zayed Mir, and all the surveillance data on him as well as known associates."_

_"__Ask and you shall receive Suzanne." Mayhew replied. He was obviously impressed, if not enamoured by Susan. Anna Amore on the other hand was not impressed and her facial expression began to sour. She didn't like being usurped by Mayhew in front of an employee of hers. _

_ "Chin up Anna" Mayhew said. "I can see working you with you is going to have it's rewards Ms Sykes."_

_Smith donned a false saccharin smile and said; "I'm sure it will Mr. Mayhew, I'm sure it will."_

_With that Mayhew left the room beaming like someone on a successful first date._

_As soon as he left the saccharin smile on smith's face dropped to a more serious, disgusted expression. _

_ "What a fucking sleaze ball". She uttered. "I'm sorry Anna; I hope I didn't cause trouble for you"._

_"__No not all, I'm used to it, besides your right: he is a fucking sleaze ball. By the way, how do you know about all this stuff? For a junior analyst you seem to have a lot of insight. " _

_Ever mindful of concealing her true intentions as a spy, Smith instantly relied on her training from the good old folks at MI6 and regurgitated an answer that was almost subconscious. _

_"__Educated guess" Smith replied, "I guess I learned a lot from those case files you gave me, and I picked up a few things working in Iraq as well."_

_ "__hmm, well as long as A leads to B we should have few problems". Amore replied_

_"__Now let me show to your workstation."_

_ "Excellent Idea", Smith replied._

_Over the next two weeks, Smith settled well into the job. Her military background as a combat intelligence officer served her well but working at Marathon still had its challenges. It had been a while since she did intelligence analysis and MI6 hadn't exactly trained her for standard intelligence duties. _

_ Smith sat for long hours in front of her desktop computer with her analyst notebook software opened, doing what was sometimes mind-numbingly boring tasks. With each possible scenario every piece of intelligence data was meticulously scrutinised and every analysis had to be probabilistically defensible. Smith thought that if she saw one more poissant distribution graph she'd scream. Going over the dossiers and the planning of scenarios was the more fun side of the job. _

_ The picture was beginning to become a little clearer now, and the deeper she delved into the case, the more pleased she became with herself as her hunch about hawala networks was right from the start. The only thing left to do now was solidify the details and sell it to the authorities. _

_Yet there were moments when she thought that she, and undoubtedly MI6 had been digging themselves a hole with this assignment. She was still no closer to the truth of her real mission than when she started. If Marathon were indeed dirty, which Smith didn't doubt; how could she prove it and when would be the best time to press Anna Amore. Susan was not the kind of girl to rush things. She contended that the best way to blend in would be to focus on the work and not think about the future too much. _

_ Smith hated working in an office. The workstation she worked out of was a standard grey fabric-lined cubicle that felt like a prison, and was the kind of ergonomic nightmare a typical financial services employee worked in. She had to take regular breaks as she found herself very often getting strained and starry-eyed. Most people at Marathon kept to themselves while working there. Being in the intelligence racket, it wasn't a great place for office banter and many of the people didn't really mix with each other apart from the odd company social._

_ However, one or two employees were very helpful, particularly male co-workers who kind of had the hots for her. Still, Smith used it to her advantage to try to find out more about Amore. It turns that most people in the company didn't really like her that much, and the rumour was going around that Amore might be gay, as she alluded to having liked __Xena: Warrior Princess__ while under the influence of alcohol at an office party._

_ Having completed the latest analysis, Smith took a moment to stretch herself to relieve her fatigue. She leaned back in the chair with her arms stretched out and yawned. She looked towards the ceiling, shaking her head slightly, and running her fingers through her long black hair. _

_ She gave a brief glimpse around the room, and before going back to her 'phony job' as she called it; all of a sudden, out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone walking down the corridor with Mayhew, someone she had recognised from when she had researched the background to the mission back in London. "Could it be…?" She thought yes, it's that slimy bastard Moishe Soref. Smith recognised the head and face; with its small hooked nose, serious brown eyes and fine black hair. He was plump in the body and spoke in a Middle Eastern Jewish accent. Smith got a good look and confirmed him to be the same._

_ Now amidst the monotony of her cover, and all the bullshit that led up to getting this far, at last there was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, small but significant. All she had to do now was find out what they were up to. _

_A look of satisfaction developed on Smith's face and with that she turned to her reliable, somewhat persuadable acquaintance Michael Reese, who worked in accounts receivable across the way from her. She considered him a valuable source of information, as he had access to Marathon's financial records and thus their business connections. _

_ Reese was a young American man in his twenties. His lanky frame, scruffy short hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a handsome appearance but in a nerdy sort of way. He was a major trekker and often felt more comfortable talking about his obsessive interests in Sci-Fi and entomology. He wasn't very adept at the art of following or engaging in conversation and could often be distant and appear moody even though on the face of it he came across as being a nice guy. _

_Marathon hired him mainly because of his meticulous arithmetic skills and incredible memory for data, and tended to get on well with foreigners. Smith suspected that he might even have a touch of highly functional Asperger's Syndrome. Her sister's son Mark with diagnosed with a rare condition the previous year in school called Glaub syndrome that was part of the same family of autistic spectrum disorders and that's how she knew. _

_Reese's emotional vulnerability in matters of women made him a perfect source of information; the prospect of which Smith would find very useful, and very morally disturbing indeed. With an eye to make contact and manipulation on her mind, Smith wandered over across the hall to Reese's terminal. _

_"__Hi Michael, what you at, you busy at the moment". She said, putting on an alluring face. _

_Reese responded somewhat overly enthusiastically." Suzanne hi, how are you doing today?"_

_"__I'm good thanks, just taking a break so I said I'd wander over to you." Smith saw that Reese was on a break himself. He regularly completed his work ahead of time that meant that he often spent hours on YouTube looking up videos or on the internet, and having spotted that he was streaming an episode of Star Trek: The Original Series, Smith took an immediate interest. _

_"__Wow", she said, "is that the episode where Kirk and McCoy go back in time to the 1930's, what's it called…."_

_"__City on the edge of forever." He interjected. "Gosh Suzanne, I had no idea you liked Trek."_

_"__I love it", she said "That's only my favourite episode, although I haven't watched it in a while. It's not very fashionable for girls like me to admit liking stuff like that."_

_"__I the know the feeling Suzanne, it's like people think your weird or strange for having certain interests. I feel that way sometimes myself"_

_"__It's nothing to be ashamed of Michael, besides I think people who like Sci-Fi are intelligent people and I think intellect is sexy in a guy."_

_Reese suddenly beamed with infatuation. "Really?" he said excitedly. "yeah really", she said almost genuinely. Reese, like many Asperger's tend to be optimistic yet cautious when it comes to advances from pretty women, and it crossed Smith's mind that he had either been in relationships before and was hurt, or else he was genuinely attracted to her and didn't know how to proceed because of mixed up signals. With that in mind she successfully deflected the situation. _

_ "__I was just wondering Michael if you could tell me do you know that guy who's with Victor Mayhew…"_

_"__Yes, I think his name is Soref. I as far I know we do some security work for him. We handle all his transactions from here. Anyway why do you want to know?"_

_"__Oh I just like to get to know people connected to the company that's all. I like being sociable to people. Tell me Michael do you have a girlfriend, are you single?"_

_Reese naturally blushed and replied, "unfortunately yes, for the time being. I haven't had a girlfriend in three years."_

_"__Oh I see" Smith replied "Really? I can't believe a handsome guy like you could ever be single." _

_"__It's complicated." He said in an uncomfortable tone._

_"__Well don't worry Michael, the right ones out there for you. I've been in bad relationships too. The last guy I dated was actually an accountant but he was a bit distant so it didn't work out. I was fascinated by his job. I like computers, I'm a nerdy sort of a girl and I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?"_

_ "Sure Suzanne; anything."_

_"__Could I just check out the accounting software on your computer? I promise I won't touch anything; you can show me around it if you like."_

_ "I don't know Suzanne, it's kind of confidential information that's on their; if Mayhew were to find out."_

_ "Oh I promise I won't tell, I'm an intelligence analyst; mums the word; please, for me?"_

_ "Well Ok, it can't do any harm I suppose."_

_At this point Reese was well out of his comfort zone. He was overcome by a mixture of fear of being fired by his bosses and strong infatuation for a woman clearly out of his league. Nevertheless Smith's masterful subterfuge was paying off and she would soon get to the truth. _

_ As Reese was showing her his Sage Line 50 accounting package she noticed that one of the accounts he was working were the yearly accounts of the company board of the directors; an absolute treasure trove of information. _

_This was a huge discovery, and all of a sudden aroused a keen interest in Smith, and as it turns out she wasn't the only one who was aroused. Her blouse was just open enough for her to lean over for him to see the valley of cleavage dividing her fine breasts. Michael gulped in inadequacy, totally psychologically dominated by this woman's manipulative cynicism. _

_ "Michael." She said "could you be a darling for me and run to the canteen I've got a hankering for to have a cup of coffee; just between the two of us."_

_ "Sure thing, I'll be back in a few minutes" he said enthusiastically, as he almost stumbled off his chair getting up to go to the canteen. She waited as he disappeared from view she glanced around furtively, and seeing that he's office space was larger, more comfortable and more secluded than hers, she decided to dive right in and see what exactly her sleazy new employers were up to. _

_ Already having some accounting training, she found details of payments for services provided by Marathon, from Soref's various bank accounts across the Cayman Islands, Switzerland, Caracas and Beirut to top executives up to and including Wolchik himself. All of them were legitimate of course. She also found a list of debtor companies who owed money to Marathon. All of them were listed as suspected companies of The Cartel that M talked about. They were involved in the borderline legal, often nefarious arms trade, and were under Soref's umbrella group SITCO incorporated. Could it be that Marathon were involved in arming terrorists? What was striking was there was also entries for payments from investment house known to be part of Le Chuffer's network, an ever-unfolding investigation itself. _

_ She had just struck intelligence gold. Soref was no minor player. He was a major agent for Mossad during the Soviet era and his connections became useful to the CIA during Operation Cyclone; the plot to overthrow the Soviet backed government in Afghanistan. As a result, they gave him substantial shares in major American defence corporations that allowed him to set up SITCO and sell missiles to Kuwait and tanks to South Korea. _

_The UN being a world police force largely without teeth at the best of times loosely enforced global arms trafficking around the 70's and 80's. SITCO became a huge player in the arms race in that time and the sale of small arms to certain undesirables in Africa and the Middle East on several concessions went unnoticed. _

_This was a major development in the case. The pieces were finally coming together, and Smith turned over the background research on the mission with considerable unease in her mind. When the shit hit the fan it was not going to be pretty. If the world were to find out that major military industrial contractors were somehow working with terror groups behind the scenes it would certainly cause a stir. If anything, this was becoming increasingly common in 00 section cases nowadays. _

_The fallout from the QUANTUM affair in Bolivia a few months back caused considerable embarrassment for the political establishment on both sides of the Atlantic and there was a feeling in the MI6 camp that they were being called in just to sweep things under the rug. In Smith's business, enemies become friends, and friends become enemies very quickly and having dirt on people can be very useful. _

_As she delved in deeper into Marathon's private financial affairs one entry struck her as particularly inviting; a payment from Radionica Industries LLC. Smith did a quick Google search for the company and it just so happened also that it was (quite conveniently) a small subsidiary of the major American military industrial giant Pantheon. _

_Pantheon specialised in everything that used nuclear materials in the defence and aerospace industries from missiles to spacecraft propulsion to the most sophisticated antennae used in the controversial HAARP project that required the delivery of powerful ionizing radiation into the upper atmosphere required for weather manipulation and destroying the electronics of an incoming guided intercontinental ballistic missile._

_A major military industrial corporation, an arms firm, a radioactive materials manufacturer and a mercenary group, it was all beginning to make sense now. She leaned back in her chair away from the computer and gave a smile of satisfaction. Her mission, unfolded like the plot of a great novel, giving her an almost spiritual thrill for the first time since she took this assignment. It was dreary at times but she could feel herself drawn ever closer into Marathons inner circle. _

_She reflected on what was to come and how to get there, and, in very much the same way as the British built their empire, she decided the best way was to win people's hearts, (namely Anna's), and then tighten the grip. _

_It would however require a little ruthless offload of some excess baggage, namely Reese, who emerged from the canteen with two cups of coffee, actually thinking he was in with a chance. Smith quickly shut down the program and indiscriminately pretended to surf the internet. _

_"__There you go Suzanne", he said with obvious sexual tension. "I made it just the way you like it, cream two sugars". _

_"__Oh thanks Michael", she said, almost with disinterest. He paused tensely. He could not take his lustful, inexperienced eyes off the slenderness and curvature of her body in all its glory, dressed up in a skirt and blouse. It was a feeling that intoxicated him to the point that he came right out with it. _

_"__Suzanne, I think you're an amazing woman; I think I love… I mean like you. I'd really like to go out with you…. I mean to the theatre, or or or maybe a drink."_

_ Uncomfortably flattered, Smith acknowledged yet cruelly punctured his at advance. "Thank you Michael, you're a nice guy, really you are, but you're not really my type. Don't stop trying and maybe I'll call you in the next life. Oh and thanks for the coffee."_

_ Her response left him speechless and emotionally deflated, and with that, she left and went back to her terminal, his usefulness now spent. At that same moment she felt an uncomfortable guilt at what she had just done. This would more than likely lead to a deep depression in him or perhaps a meltdown. Anyway, what the fuck did she care, on with more important things, such as completing the phony job she was paid to do. _

_ She gathered the latest analysis and decided to pay Anna a visit. The pair had gotten to know a little bit about one another since Smith joined the company and it was becoming evident that Anna was beginning to loosen up a little and warm to her. Susan often skilfully used lunchtimes as a means stirring up conversation amongst the team of analysts in the canteen. As it turns out Anna shared a lot of interests with Susan. They both liked Iain Banks novels, and streamed Manny Pacquiao fights (albeit from pirate sites) on the Internet; although they did part ways when it came to champions league football. _

_Smith was a Chelsea fan while Anna followed Bayern Munich. Smith enjoyed such discourses about the beautiful game, and often playfully joked around with her, pointing out that the proper term was football not soccer, as the yanks called it, which led to little friendly patriotic jousts between their two nationalities. _

_She wrapped gently on the door to Anna's office and smiled at the sound of her sweet voice emanating from inside the office bidding her to enter._

_"__Suzanne hi", Anna beamed._

_ "Anna, there you are; I wanted to run this latest analysis by you, you got a minute."_

_ "Shoot."_

_"__I've been going over the finances of this guy Mir, and I think we've got something. As it turns out there is a connection between him a local cleric in Davao city; His name is Ali Dhakwan, formally known by his previous Filipino name Abdul Florez. According to his dossier he changed it to reflect his devout, often radical views."_

_ "I'm listening, go on" Anna replied._

_"__well it turns out that this guy is under the watchful eye of the local authorities as he was kicked out of the Islamic centre there for being too radical; trained to be an Imam at a seminary in Pakistan, which was; ironically enough under the surveillance of the Pakistani authorities for being connected to the Taliban."_

_ "Are you sure; did you run an analysis?"_

_ "Absolutely all the data checks out." Smith replied. _

_"__Well in that case I suppose we'd better get on Colonel Bashir of the Philippine National Police Special Action Squad in Davao. He's our contact there. What time is it now by the way Suzanne?"_

_ "Just happens to ten to one, fancy taking an early lunch."_

_"__Why not." Anna enthused "We'll meet with Victor afterwards and if things check out, we can fly out tomorrow on the company Lear jet. Have you ever been on one before?"_

_"__No but I've heard they're incredibly comfortable."_

_"__Good, then I guess you're in for a treat, it's not every day you get to languish in perks like that you know, so avail of them while you can."_

_ Smith then softened somewhat to Amore and saw an opportunity to make a pre-romantic overture. _

_"__Anna, I was wondering if you'd like to get lunch elsewhere for a change; just the two of us. There's this great place out by the Shangri La, my treat. Maybe we can talk some more about the case their?" _

_ Amore instantly warmed to Smith's flattering Invitation, and grabbing her fashionable coat of the railing, she beamed and said "Sure Suzanne, Why not." _


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Lady and the Spy

Modern corporate air travel is probably one of the greatest perks in the world, and to Susan Smith, a virgin up until now to the elitist lifestyle, it was indeed a pleasant experience to spend a few hours on the company Lear jet.

She could now see the patterns of political engineering in the west emerging, as especially in America. Luxury private air travel was often the favourite tool of seduction used by the rich and powerful for senators (both Democrat and Republican) itching to become presidents and all they'd ask in return for a few hours of luxury was a voice for their concerns in government. Moreover if they really liked you (or they thought they could control you), they might even dip into their seemingly bottomless pockets in order to fund your campaign: how ironic

Irony aside though everything about the experience had been good. Mink lined, air conditioned interior, Wi-Fi you could use on an airplane, top class meal and some lovely 30 year old Glen Livet scotch.

The only thing that wasn't lovely about the flight however, was Victor Mayhew's lecherous stare at Smith's tantalizing thigh, exposed by the slit up the length of her skirt. Sitting across from her, she was well aware that he was mollified at the sight it, but said nothing and occasionally and discreetly pulled down the fabric to conceal it from his view. Eventually she could stand anymore of his perversion, and quietly and discreetly moved over to another seat towards the rear of the aircraft.

The Lear jet touched down at Davao at around 14:30 in the afternoon, and after a long journey, the Marathon team descended the steps onto the soil of Mindanao. Smith, being chivalrous allowed Anna to go first and quickly exited the aircraft before Mayhew in order to claim the front passenger seat of the police car that was waiting for them.

The driver for this afternoon was Sergeant Mendoza of the Special Action Squad, the antiterrorist Special Forces branch of the Philippine National Police (PNP), also known as the black berets, who modelled themselves after Britain's SAS. He introduced himself to Amore and Smith, and as they sat into the car, he met with Mayhew for a brief exchange. Mayhew had specifically requested a member of the black berets as the team's driver, and as Smith peered out the window at the two talking, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of relationship Marathon had with the Filipino political establishment. Mendoza sat into the car and started the ignition, exiting the private airfield of Francisco Bangoy Airport and onto the General Mc Arthur highway.

He was a handsome, athletically built young man in his late twenties, and Smith used the opportunity to make some small talk. As it turned out, PNP police academy was one of the toughest police training schools in the world, with even the civilian police having to undergo some rudimentary training course on counterinsurgency warfare and tactics. According to Mendoza, terrorism tended to be a big problem in this part of the Philippines, and the police were becoming quite adept at the game.

They drove along the highway, along the way observing the beautiful vista of the southern Philippine coastline; and what a beautiful day it was for it too. They seemed to leave behind the tropical stormy weather of Cebu behind them. It certainly had an effect on Mayhew, who appeared to be in a good mood today.

Everything about him just seemed to light up in Susan's (or more appropriately Suzanne's) presence. The company were planning an office do once the Filipino's found Mangurun and he hinted at the women that he'd like to see Susan come along. Exercising caution she said she would but that it was important to get down to business first and knew in her heart that he wouldn't try anything funny in the way of sexual harassment to endanger the mission

Amore however was not overly enthusiastic or impressed at the situation. She hardly said much on the flight over. Moreover, she was beginning to become a little suspicious about Smith, especially after the Michael Reese incident in which he complained to her (in a slightly distressed state) that Smith had manipulated him to get on his computer, although nothing was touched and he couldn't prove anything.

Yet still something subliminal drew her towards Smith and it was intoxicating. She found herself casting off the 'uptight career woman' act more and more. She was quickly beginning to like, or even become attracted to her. The police car arrive at the station on Genaro Lao St after about a twenty minute drive, and the team got out and thanked Sergeant Mendoza.

"Well ladies were finally here" Mayhew uttered. He glanced at his watch and found that it was time for the Zuhr: the second of the five Islamic prayers of the day.

"Christ, we've kinda come at a bad time." Mayhew said.

"Oh how so Mr. Mayhew?" Smith replied.

"Well you see honey; our Colonel Bashir is a devout Hajji… I mean Muslim; he usually takes the five prayers of the day very seriously."

"So what's wrong with that Mr. Mayhew?"

"Well nothing I guess I just don't want my girls to be freaked out by Allahu Akbar that's all"

"Don't worry Mr. Mayhew. Everybody is entitled to their beliefs" She said; again donning that false saccharin smile in disgust at his downright, ignorant discriminatory attitude. Amore, being half-Muslim herself absorbed the comments; albeit uncomfortably, and remained silent.

"Yeah honey I suppose your right. lets go inside". He said, and with that, the team, guided by Sergeant Mendoza, ventured inside the Police station past the reception area that was manned by a middle-aged officer dressed in the striking navy uniform of the regular civilian branch of the PNP.

"Marathun team to see Colonel Bashir pleece?" Mendoza ordered in a officious tone to his colleague who instantly picked up the receiver of his phone to call his office. The phone was evidently engaged.

"No answer Sir," the duty officer replied. Mendoza then turned to the team saying that it would probably be best to wait outside his office until he was finished.

"Damn call to prayer" Mayhew uttered, much to a look of chagrin on the others faces, and they made their way to the office. Outside the office the team could hear the recitation of the Ra'kah: a special meditation employed by Muslims during daily prayers. Mayhew rolled his eyes in obvious disinterest and disregard for the ritual. Amore on the other hand found the sound emanating from inside the office slightly uncomfortable and didn't respond. Smith could see that she obviously must have had a bad experience in the past with the faith, or a negative childhood memory. On the other hand she was fascinated by the sound of the worship. She made it a point to study Islam, objectively of course, as she never knew when knowledge of other peoples cultures or religions might come in handy when dealing with her enemies: intelligence people being required to keep a vigil, open, yet manipulative mind.

The good colonel Bashir had finished his daily religious obligation and Sergeant Mendoza gently yet with a hint of impatience, knocked on his superior's door.

"Yees who ees it?" the colonel said from in office.

"Marathun team to see you sir?" Mendoza replied.

"Ah yees, bid them to cam in" he said, responded in a more hearty tone. The team entered the office: "Ah Victur how are you?"

"good to see you again Manuel; I couldn't help but overhear your little prayer there, you know personally speaking Islam wouldn't exactly float my boat. But each to their own I suppose."

"Prudent philosophy Victur; perhaps you would like to introduce me to these two lovely ladies weeth you."

"Of course, this is my team leader Anna Amore."

"Hello Colonel?" Amore replied formally, and shook the Colonel's hand.

Mayhew then introduced Smith: "And this, my dear Manuel is Suzanne Sykes from England; the most talented member of our team in Cebu."

"Delighted to meet you Colonel." Smith replied. The Colonel; a burly man in his early fifties gave Smith a firm handshake that exuded confidence.

"I've heard a lot about you Mees Sykes, Victur tells me you have come up with a solution to our problem." He said, donning a smile on his broad face, which boasted a certain age-battered appearance, nicely complimented by a hairline moustache.

"Well it's only an idea Colonel, but I'd be happy to hear any thoughts you might have."

"Still, I like people who can think outside the box working around me Ms. Sykes"

"thank you Colonel. I couldn't help but notice; was that the Ra'kah you were reciting just now."

Mayhew rolled his eyes to heaven again. Bashir however responded enthusiastically. "yees Mees Sykes; very gud tell me, do you know much about Islam?"

"Only what I learned from a Lebanese girl who I worked with once. Apparently she says the Sujud, or prostration practiced during the five daily prayers has a meditative significance, and are meant to get the blood rushing to head in order to clear the mind and focus the attention on God: or so she claims."

"Eh am impressed Ms Sykes; what else do you know, perhaps I could enlighten you.

"If you don't mind Colonel I think we should get down to business." Amore Interjected, somewhat uncomfortably.

"Ah yees, of course, pleece be seated." Bashir uttered, and with that went at sat behind his great big plywood desk. Behind on the wall was displayed the crest of the Special Action Force, which consists of the winged Kampilan with the Tagalog logo Tagligtas (saviours). The team sat around the desk and he continued.

"So," he said; his tone being considerably more resolutely business-like. "I have been reviewing the intelligence your department sent me. It is promising but a little controversial."

"how so Colonel," Smith replied.

"you see Ms Sykes, going after Ali Dhakwan ees a touchy subject. even though the moderates, namely the mainstream clerics in this city have rejected his philosophies, he is charismatic and well like amongst many people in the Muslim community here, particularly the youth.

Davao is a multicultural city, and freedom of religion ees very important to Filipinos. Therefore our laws around freedom of religious expression are to certain degree lax unlike in Europe. I have been working with certain members of the opposition parties and business people who are influential and want to see a clampdown on extremists, no doubt in part to the opposition leader's son being a victim of terrorism here in 2003. Yet at the same time the government in Manila and the local provincial and city authorities want to keep an atmosphere of openness; so you understand our predicament ladies and gentlemen."

"yeah I gathered you might have a problem with this Manuel. You Muslims can be a little touchy about your religion, but rest assured we'll try not to piss anyone off while were here. We're just doing our job to keep our clients happy."

Bashir adopted a look of disapproval at Mayhew's comment and Smith, reading the situation well decided to move in and diffuse the tensions. She turned to the team and said.

"If it's alright with my colleagues, may I offer a suggestion?"

"Of course dear, go ahead." Mayhew said.

"thank you, Mr Mayhew. First of all Colonel may I offer my reassurance, on behalf of our firm that we have no interest in local political affairs. We have been contracted by our clients to find Mohammed Mangurun, and that is the sole focus of our investigation. We want to assure you Colonel, and your political associates that our interest in Dhakwan is purely peripheral to the investigation. You may deal with him as you wish in accordance to your laws. Now, if you like we can go over this with your politicians to make sure that it's Ok with them; bearing in mind that absolute security of this operation must be maintained, if , of course that's Ok with my colleagues of course."

Mayhew donned an impressed look on his face, as undoubtedly did Colonel Bashir, and although she felt slightly out of her comfort zone; quite evidently so did Anna

"I admire your forthrightness Mees Sykes," Bashir replied. "I think I can trust your judgement on this, you seem to understand discretion and I like that."

"Thank you Colonel" Smith replied. "Now shall we discuss our findings?"

"Of course; fire away as you westerners say."

"good, I think our team leader Anna can take this one."

Anna, impressed by Susan's candour produced a laptop containing the details of the Mangurun case and opened up a Microsoft Word document containing the intelligence report.

"Ok Colonel", She said. "this is a more detailed outline of our strategy which for obvious security reasons, we didn't want to divulge to many details over the phone; hence the reason we asked for this meeting; to go through it with you personally."

"I'm listening." Bashir said.

"Well, according to our analysis there is a 98.9% probability that there is a link between the cleric, Ali Dhakwan, and how the MILF do business with hawala brokers in the Philippines; it's all here in our report. Basically the strategy we suggest for finding Mangurun is to isolate a courier, whose job is to relay cash funds between Mangurun and Dhakwan, and squeeze him in order to get him to reveal the location of Mangurun."

"And pray tell how did you come up with this assessment, and is it defensible?"

"we have connections with allied intelligence agencies who are interested in certain individuals acting as hawala brokers which we are not at liberty to disclose here. We believe Dhakwan is one such intermediary for these individuals"

"I see." Said Bashir cautiously, "And what would you like me to do?"

"Basically to use your influence and investigative powers with certain circles of the community associated with Dhakwan; I'm sure you should be able to come up with a suitable candidate for interrogation."

Bashir smiled serendipitously "very good, Ms. Amore. I will look into it. As it just so happens, we are conducting an undercover operation centred around investigating Dhakwan. We believe that one of his followers was responsible for the brutal murder of an off duty Marine last month. It was a particularly gruesome beheading. We're looking into it, when we have a solid lead we'll let you know, In the meantime I would like to extend to you, and your team every hospitality our city can offer. Let me know and I will provide your team with any comforts the city authorities can provide."

Mayhew interjected enthusiastically. "Thank you Manuel, we'll definitely keep that in mind. In the meantime we've made our own plans. We've booked into the waterfront insular hotel just by the beach. I'm sure these fine ladies would like to relax in their bikinis by the beach after their hard work."

An obvious look of embarrassment developed on the faces of the two female team members that even Bashir himself found to be facetious.

"Very well Victur, I will call you if there are any developments." With that, the two men shook hands. He bid the ladies goodbye and the team left the office. Outside the office Mayhew, who, excited about the case, and possibly his sleazy prospects with either one the ladies on team, suggested that they all go out for a drink to celebrate their victory with Bashir.

Smith cut him off quickly by saying; "I'm tired Mr. Mayhew, I want to go back to my hotel room and relax for evening."

"Yeah me too Victor, I need to take a bath and wash my hair."

"Ok ladies your call". Mayhew said "I suspect you'll want to be fresh for tomorrow morning. I arranged for a car to take us to the hotel."

"You know what Mr. Mayhew I'll just take cab." Smith interjected, much to a deflated expression that appeared on his face. "Ok, I know when I'm not wanted. Catch you later alligator." With that, he disappeared down the hallway and out of sight. Smith rolled her head up to the ceiling and let out a long awaited, cathartic sigh of relief.

"Oh, THANK CHRIST", she blurted "I think if I had to put up with anymore of his bollocks I think I'd be brought up for murder….. Sorry Anna, It's just that sleazy fuckers like him try my patience, and especially in the middle of a professional situation…..Ugh"

"that's Ok Suzanne, besides; I believe it's my turn to buy lunch. I've always had hankering to go to Davao Chinatown; you fancy coming along."

"Yeah, that's a great idea Anna."

"Cool, then maybe you can teach me what the term 'bollocks' means and other English mannerisms. I'll call a cab."

Smith raised a gentle hand against Anna's wrist just as she was about to get her phone and said.

"you know what Anna, I feel like something a bit more native; have you ever rode a jeepney before."

"No", Anna replied. "I've heard they're meant to be uncomfortable."

"Neither have I, but as they say when in Rome do as the Romans do"

"You know what, maybe your right." Anna replied.

"Lead the way girl." Smith replied and with that the pair went out into the street and hailed a jeepney; the concept of which, borne out of the excess of American military jeeps left behind after the second world war, had since become a staple of Filipino public transportation. They were a bit claustrophobic but it was a nicer ride and enabled one to take in the atmosphere; and they were inexpensive.

Within several minutes, the makeshift taxi had them outside the entrance to Chinatown located in barangay 30C. Smith had done a little digging on the web and had read that, being an oriental food lover; the Korean Cuisine there was amongst the best in the Philippines.

After a couple of hours spent touring the 44 hectare site including the Chinese Filipino markets and the Taoist temple, the pair found a quite place run by a native Korean who introduced himself as Mr. Park, who seated them in a rather quiet inconspicuous table. The cooking area of the restaurant had a traditional Asian street cuisine kind of atmosphere and was arranged so that the costumers could see everything that was going on cooking-wise.

Smith ordered Bulgogi: a soy sauce marinated grilled beef dish that came with scallions and noodles. She suggest to Anna to try it but she declined having seen that pork was being prepared in around the same area and Halal; being one of the principles of Islamic jurisprudence that governed food preparation: decided to go for the Dak Galbi instead. Susan sensed a certain piety about Anna but at the same time, it was evident that pair hanging out together was a kind of medicine for her, and was making her that little bit more pliable. With that Smith had a plan in her mind as to how to proceed with the conversation. They collected their food and sat down at the table. A while later they received there orders and tucked in; savouring the fine cuisine. Anna initiated the conversation.

"So Suzanne, what does the term bollocks mean?"

"Basically it's just an old Anglo Saxon term meaning testicles. We English use it to describe someone who's full of bullshit or who tells lies. So say if I said to you what day is it today; being Tuesday, and you said Wednesday, I'd say 'bollocks'."

"I see; I couldn't help but notice that Michael Reese complained about you to Mayhew." Anna said. "He was very upset; claimed you were going through his computer; is that true?"

"Bollocks." Smith uttered amusedly.

"Be serious, Suzanne where you going through his stuff."

"No" Susan exclaimed in self-controlled manner. "I only went over to be nice to him and while I was there I just asked could I go on the internet and check my Gmail account. I told him I wouldn't touch anything so he agreed and I went inside to the canteen for a coffee. Then he came out with two cups. I said I didn't want any. Then he tried to come on to me and asked me out and I flatly rejected him. After that I went back to my workstation. I know his an aspie and everything but he's kinda creepy you know. I told this to Mayhew and he believed me."

"Ok Suzanne, I believe you. Anyway it's your word against his but in future try not to get yourself into trouble Ok."

"Sure thing Anna: I noticed you were a little uncomfortable around Mayhew and Bashir when we were talking about Islam; are you alright Anna?"

"Yeah fine sure, It's just that my father was Muslim. He was Turkish, and had a reputation for being quite stern, that's all."

"would you like to talk about it?" Smith asked.

"Not really" Amore said. "Thanks for being caring Suzanne."

"You know, you shouldn't let that asshole Mayhew get to you. There is a lot of beauty in Islam, although to be honest with you it's a bit too extreme for me being a westerner. I think the whole terrorism thing has more to do with politics as opposed to religion, and lord knows my people and our empire didn't help things much. But if you ever want to talk about stuff don't be afraid to talk to me."

"Thanks Suzanne". She said, as she reached out her hand against Susan's wrist. At that moment their was a brief engagement of eye contact between the two and a subliminal bond of attraction was beginning to be formed when Anna reticently rolled her eyes away. Susan blushed slightly and adopted an enamoured smile that hinted yet another small, successful coup. With that she turned the conversation in favour by saying:

"Anna, do you have a guy of your own?"

Anna paused blushingly "I haven't had much experience with guys to honest. I was brought up in strict household where it was emphasized that sex was a sin outside of marriage. I dated some guys but they never really worked out."

A pause followed by look of discomfort appeared on Anna's face. It was as though she was accessing painful memories. With that Smith; in a gentle, supportive manner, replied:

"It's ok Anna, you don't have to go in details right now; I completely understand."

In her emotionally weakened defence Anna responded to Smith's supportive gesture and said.

"I shouldn't be bothering you with this Suzanne; you're the first person I've ever opened up to. I guess I just haven't found the right man."

"Or woman". Smith replied.

A brief uncomfortable pause followed and in the midst of her confusion and flattery; Anna's phone serendipitously rang.

"Hello."

"This is Mayhew; drop what you guys are doing and come over here; we think we might have a lead."

"It's Mayhew" she said, whispering to Smith. "Go on Victor" she replied.

"Bashir has got someone in custody who goes to this Dhakwan guy's private mosque; a young kid named Junriel Asi who they suspect might be responsible for the beheading of that Marine."

"All so soon; how can they be certain it's him?"

"just come down here will you, we need you guys' input. Where the hell are you anyway?"

"Mindanao Chinatown, Barangay 30C."

"Ok wait at the entrance to Chinatown; we'll have a car pick you up."

"Ok, well be there as soon as possible." Anna replied and ended the call.

"What was that about?" Smith asked.

"Mayhew and Bashir have someone in custody, a kid named Junriel Asi who apparently goes to Dhakwan's mosque; we'd better get over there."

"Right I'll settle up the bill if you like?"

"It was my turn to buy lunch, so it's ok."

"Really Anna it's no problem, I insist."

"I said it was fine didn't I". Anna snapped.

"Ok ok, I get the message." Smith replied in a calm tone, which gave the impression that she had come on a little strong and was slightly wounded. Anna settled the bill and they left the restaurant. They made their way to entrance as instructed by Mayhew and waited. A car picked them up and drove to the police station. For the duration of the trip the pair said nothing: silent in the heat of their sexual tensions.


	9. Chapter 9

_CHAPTER 9_

_The Honey Trap_

_As Anna and Susan walked down the corridor to the interrogation room, the interior of Toril police station exuded a dankness, which didn't help the pair's mood. It reminded Smith of when she was first brought into custody by the redcaps where she was temporarily detained at Berechurch Military Corrective Training Centre for homosexual offences. The facility; the only of its kind in Britain, was attached to the Colchester garrison in Essex; another PC friendly term for prison. Smith was assigned to Company A, the division for servicemen and women not awaiting transfer to the HM prison service. _

_ To either side of her she could see detention cells that were overcrowded with inmates caged behind aged rusty-white bars in desperate need of a coat of paint. They looked at her with sullen almost frightened faces, and Smith wondered to herself exactly what kind of treatment these people received whilst incarcerated. Some of them had bruises that were obvious signs of beating, and Smith tried to reconcile with the idea that although prison violence was a common occurrence, especially in third world countries; there also could be an element of nefariousness on the part of the police also. After all Aquino was considered in the west to be a kind of dictator; albeit a democratically elected one. _

_ The pair made their way inside the a small viewing room adjacent to the interrogation room where Mayhew and Bashir were situated, and who were observing the interrogation behind a one-way mirrored glass pane on the wall. _

_ "Ah ladies there you are." He said "we just caught the little bastard. Bashir's men are working him over right now. His name is Junriel Asi They think they're close to a confession. I hope you guys aren't faint of heart."_

_ Experienced in the art of interrogation, and not entirely trusting of crony police methods, Smith replied in a cautious tone. "How can you be so sure Mr Mayhew?" _

_Bashir interjected. "We have had our eye on heem for quite some time. He cams from a poor part of the city called the Ilang barangay; a predominantly Muslim area. He is a Shabu addict Known to the PNP for petty larceny, GBH and antisocial behaviour."_

_ "Shabu?" Smith asked. _

_"__yees Ms Sykes; a Filipino term fur the drug you commonly call methamphetamine. Local drug dealers mix it with caffeine tablets to increase the high, very dangerous. Dhakwan often operates out of a small community centre there, apparently set up to get young addicts off of drugs. In these poor places young people often have nowhere to turn to but people like him fur guidance, as the rehabilitation services provided by the authorities are often poorly developed. Medaceen costs a lot of money to the average Filipino: so you see why nailing Dhakwan ees a touchy subject."_

_ Smith was beginning to turn over an ugly pattern of thought in her mind. Could this person Dhakwan be involved in the drug trade in an inconspicuous capacity, then using addicts under the guise of religious conversion to act as mules and even couriers for terrorists and criminals? In countries where life is cheap anything is possible. _

_ Smith decided to have a glance through the glass at the interrogation at the so-called suspect. Asi was young man possibly in his late teens or early twenties whose thin yet gaudy frame suggested that he was in poor physical health. At first glance, it appeared that he was clutching his abdomen because of possibly not having a fix, and that perhaps he was constipated or coming down, as amphetamine abuse has a tendency to do that to a person. However, given the way the interrogating officer was behaving towards the suspect; aggressively banging his hand on the table and shoving a confession in front him to sign, she entertained another more nefarious possibility._

_She conceded that the young man may have been subject to police brutality, and judging from his responses to the officers questions; he possibility could be innocent of the crime, and that the police wanted a speedy resolution to the case without any embarrassing political repercussions. With that, she turned on her reason and decided to intervene. _

_"__Colonel is this interrogation method really necessary; I mean for all you know he could be under the influence of drugs which would bring his testimony into question in a court of law."_

_"__I apologise if our methods seem crude Ms. Sykes but he does have motive. He is a follower of Dhakwan and certain sources claim that he was in the vicinity at the time of the beheading, so we are just following a legitimate line of inquiry."_

_"__When you arrested him did he have any drugs or paraphernalia on him?"_

_"__yes, a small quantity of Shabu; just a gram or so for personal use, that's all"_

_"__Well if that's the case don't you think a person under the influence of drugs more than likely isn't an Islamist and merely a petty offender, and that he possibly could be an unreliable witness"_

_"__Suzanne!" Anna interjected sharply._

_"__No Ms. Amore it's alright," Bashir replied "we have been aware that Dhakwan has been feeding young people drugs in order to use them for various purposes and crimes. Shabu roughly translates in our languages as 'the madness drug' and it does make you do crazy things much like crack cocaine does in the United States. Don't worry Ms. Sykes we have the right man."_

_ "I don't doubt you Colonel; the problem I have is that he's a drug addict and that, with no disrespect to your profession; your methods of interrogation are a bit crude. Our company relies upon the fact that every action we do is defensible in court; after all, we don't want to be involved in a legal crisis or scandal that would enable Dhakwan to get off scot-free and comprise the investigation or undermine our company's work here. Because after all you wouldn't want our mission to fail or your politicians to get embarrassed now would you?"_

_ "I suppose you're right Ms Sykes" Bashir said, ungraciously admitting defeat._

_ "then what do you suggest we do?" He added. _

_"__Perhaps the gentleness of a woman's intervention may be in order. As part of my military training I did take courses on interrogation and psychology. Perhaps I could be of assistance."_

_ "Absolutely not?" Amore interjected, in obvious protest at the suggestion. _

_Bashir however responded more diplomatically. _

_ "I'm sorry Ms Sykes. I cannot allow you to intervene. There is no telling what he might be capable of and you are not a member of our police service and therefore have no jurisdiction in our country."_

_ Mayhew intervened and said. "She does have a point Manuel. Your crony police methods aren't exactly 100% reliable." _

_ "just what are you implying Mr Mayhew" he said snappily. _

_"__I'm saying that if you don't play ball with us it could have negative implications for your bosses and they won't like that. Now, I trust this girl because so far she is the only one out of the whole lot of us that has come up with any solutions. Plus the fact that she is straight up, meaning that if she has the capabilities she says she has, I want to give her idea a chance."_

_ "I can't believe you're doing this victor" Anna protested "you're essentially putting my team member In danger just because of your personal whim; I can't possibly allow this to happen. I'm going to have to draw the line here!"_

_ "Draw all you want honey but while I'm your boss, what I say goes; capiche?"_

_ Amore retorted angrily. "well maybe I don't want to be your employee anymore, because I'm resigning in the morning."_

_ "fine don't let the door hold you back on the way out" Mayhew replied casually and with that Amore stormed out of the room. Smith attempted to go after her but Mayhew stopped her. _

_ "Don't worry about her. I was about to fire her anyway." He said, much to an icy look of disapproval on Smith's face._

_ Embarrassed by the whole fracas, Bashir responded: "Ok Victur you've got a deal. She can interview the suspect, but if there is one ounce of trouble I'm pulling her out understood?"_

_ "Perfectly Manuel; perfectly" Mayhew replied. _

_"__And how do you propose to proceed Ms Sykes?" Bashir asked._

_ "I'm only making this up as I go but basically I'll make up a story that I'm a counsellor for a drug rehab clinic that's working with the police in order to get addicts out of jail and into the program; get him to give up the information that way."_

_ "brilliant" Mayhew interjected excitedly, much to the chagrin of Smith and Bashir._

_ "and what happens when he discovers it a false promise." Bashir asked_

_"__that's entirely up to what you do with him, but Filipino law states that you can hold a terror suspect for up to 10 days without charge and we want to get to the truth. What you do after that is entirely up to you and doesn't keep us awake at night."_

_"__Alright; Alright" Bashir conceded._

_"__I'm to have to ask your men to leave the room" Smith said to Bashir and with that, he led Smith inside the interrogation room and gave the interrogating officer an order to leave in Bisaya, which he did reluctantly. With the room vacated of any threatening police presence, smith sat down in front of the suspect, who was clearly frightened and gave a warm smile._

_ "Hi; Junriel isn't it; my name is Suzanne. I'm from England." He paused reticently, afraid that he would say anything incriminating. Smith responded to the gesture by turning on her feminine instinct. "you know I think Junriel is a lovely name. I bet you get a lot of girls falling over each other trying to get to you. I can tell you know?" Asi had no other choice but to take stock of the gesture and reciprocated the smile. _

_"__gwapa ka" he replied; the Bisaya phrase which translates as 'you are beautiful'._

_ Smith, having enough Bisaya to understand him replied "Salamat, gwapo ka (thank you, you are handsome)." He paused again, donning an evasive yet anxious expression, which indicated to Smith that he was not the hardcore Islamist type; merely a frightened young kid who was in bad situation, yet was distrustful of the authorities, and having grown up on the streets was naturally cynical. She took solace in the fact that he thought she was pretty, which indicated that he trusted her and that more than likely he would be easy to break down. _

_ "I hear you have a problem with drugs Junriel. I'm a treatment counsellor with the betty ford centre for addiction. We just set up a treatment centre downtown and we're working with the police to get Shabu addicts into the program in exchange for commuted prison sentences. Would you like to give up drugs Junriel?" _

_ "Yees", he responded clutching his sides painfully. Smith supposed that Asi had been beaten but didn't want to ruffle the feathers of the local police; she merely wanted to get to the truth._

_ "the police have given me full authority to interview you. They say that they'll drop the charges and help you get into the program if you tell the truth Junriel. Therefore, you can tell me anything but anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand that?"_

_ "But I didant do anytheeng" he protested innocently. _

_"__I know that Junriel you're not the sort of guy to do bad things. It's just the drugs that's all. The good news is you can live your life free of drugs; and all you have to do is provide me with a little information. I care about people in your situation Junriel, but I have to uphold the law of the land so I need you to trust me, Ok?"_

_"__You promise won't let them hurt me"_

_ Smith smiled reassuringly. "you have my word of honour as an English lady."_

_Now that she had established a bond of trust, it was time to get to the crux of the matter. With that she asked the first question. _

_ "Does Ali Dhakwan supply you with drugs?"_

_"__No" he replied, "Faisal Albani"_

_ "who's he?" she asked. _

_"__he is a preacher at Imam Dhakwan's mosque. I only joined because he said Imam Dhakwan would help me get off Shabu. He gave me a job getting briefcases of money from the rebels a foreign gentleman."_

_ "who was this foreign gentleman?"_

_He began to break down crying. "I cant teel you"_

_ Smith stretched out her hand and patted his wrist "It's ok Junriel. Your safe now. No harm will come to you. Who was this gentleman?"_

_ "I don't really know; all I know is that I overheard some conversation with himself and Dhakwan. He said his name was Mir or something"_

_ "was he Pakistani?"_

_"__yees he looked like he was from India ur sam place. I looked inside the briefcase once and saw that there was money so I took some. Then Albani found that there was some short. He beat and threatened me. He said that if I ever revealed details of the conversation or if I told the police I was dead."_

_ "do you know where this Mir guy gets his money from?"_

_"__once I was hired a couple of times to go out into the countryside in Lanoa Del Norte to a rice plantation on the outskirts of Baroy. My job was to pick up a package for Albani. At first when I was employed by him I was off drugs and making good money. Then he started giving my free Shabu and I became addicted again. He said there was some money and an ounce in it for me as long as I did what I was told and kept my mouth shut."_

_ "and who did you get the package from Junriel?"_

_Asi was becoming exceedingly anxious. "but eef I tell you they'll will kill me" he said again breaking down emotionally. _

_ "No harm will come to you Junriel I promise. We can put you in witness protection where we can treat you and relocate you; I'll personally see to that. Now can you tell me who did you get the package from?"_

_ "She was nice." He said with a smile of recollection. _

_"__who was she Junriel?" _

_ "She was the one of the wives of the farmer. She used to invite in a couple of times me in fur noodles and rice and fish and well, you know."_

_ Smith smiled, "yes I do Junriel, what was her name."_

_"__Mangurun; Zeinab Mangurun." _

_ "Thank you Junriel," she replied "I'll fix up with the police and they can get your statement." She clasped his wrist gently with her hand and said "Don't worry Junriel; today is the first day of the rest of your life, I promise", and with that she left the interrogation room. _

_In her mind, the chapter of her life under the cover name of Suzanne Sykes was closing and another chapter beginning. Nothing would ever be the same again; people were going to ask questions from now onwards, meaning that it was important now more than ever to up the game with Amore if she was while she had the element of surprise in her favour. _

_ She went into the adjoining room where Mayhew and Bashir had been watching in silence. "very impressive Ms Sykes", Bashir commented "you obviously have a knack for interrogation. I can see there is more to you than meets the eye, or perhaps than you've led us to believe."_

_ "Just doing what I came here to do Colonel," she said "you can read into that any way you so choose. Now want you're assurance that that boy will be looked after in terms of treatment and relocation. If I find that any harm comes to him we'll make sure that you are personally held responsible, understood? After all we have to protect our company's image now haven't we?"_

_ "exactly" Mayhew interjected. _

_"__then it appears that our business is concluded here" Bashir said, shaking the hands to Mayhew and Smith with a sense of admiration and professional respect._

_ The remainder of the Marathon team left the interrogation room and proceeded down the corridor and out the main entrance. Smith had a clear look of dejection on her face while Mayhew clearly beamed with satisfaction at yet another successful coup by his corporation. _

_ "Oh my god Suzanne you were brilliant. I'm putting you in Anna's position right away as soon the paperwork is cleared. I tell you girl you've got a bright future ahead of you. Just you wait and see."_

_ Smith responded coldly "you know what Mayhew you're the absolute last person I want to see today. Your behaviour in there makes me want to bawk. Now get out of my face before I do something I really will regret." As Smith walked off down the street in the opposite direction, he shouted after her. _

_"__Aw come on Suzanne what did I do?"_

_ "Talk to the hand Victor" she said as she walked away, only briefly turn back to give the gesture. _

_ Mayhew stared at her as she walked away; his libido increased by her scornful attitude. He donned a mischievous smile and said to himself _

_"__God I love a fighter." _

_Smith sat at the bar of the waterfront casino reflecting. It was the day after the interrogation, and it was announced over the local news that Mangurun had met an untimely and merciless end at the hand of the local Filipino security forces. They caught him at night by surprise and he and his two wives were caught in the crossfire of a vengeful hit squad comprising of Filipino Marines and counterterrorist police in a siege, which lasted six hours. _

_ To Smith, it was another successful coup, one that the world would never know the full truth about. In her profession she often felt like the author of the screenplay to the greatest movie of all time. She would never get any credit, and the governments, like money hungry studio execs would end up owning all the rights and taking all the profits. _

_ Was in any wonder then that she often needed to unwind, mainly through the medium of drink, or perhaps the occasional fuck with some man she couldn't care less about. It was the prerogative of her dark and enticing beauty to let go and express herself once in a while, and in the midst of her confused sexuality, she often contemplated the prospect of true love. She could feel her heart saying to her that Anna might well be one of those prospects, and the duality of her profession tortured her. _

_She tried Anna's cell phone several times, leaving a message of apology on one occasion that she'd really like it if she could come to the Marathon office barbecue that Mayhew was holding in celebration of closing the Mangurun case. _

_ She was clearly hurt over possibility having come on too strong or having hurt Anna's feelings, and instead of letting go through drink like she usually did, she thought that it might be more prudent to find another outlet instead, and ended up blowing 1200 US Dollars on cheap $5 blackjack. Unlike James Bond, who tried to teach her the finer points of the game once, Smith was a hopeless gambler and didn't really give a damn about losing money, but at the same time knew when to quit. _

_ At around three in the afternoon Smith retired to her room at the waterfront insular in Davao, having ordered a bottle of fine Don Perignon 2004; another choice recommended by her colleague 007. He frequented all the best wine shops in California and Santiago Chile whilst on holiday, hence his vast knowledge of the subject, and often used a fine vintage as a tool of seduction for his female conquests. Smith however didn't prove so easy in taking the bait, and since meeting the pair enjoyed a professional, albeit platonic working relationship. _

_She was saving the vintage as a peace offering for Anna, occasionally checking her phone to see if there was any reply. She finally got one; it was from Anna, saying that she was sorry for their little tiff and that she' d like to meet at the party and talk. Smith beamed with the sense of renewed hope at the text message and sifted through her clothes for something alluring to wear for the evening._

_Smith sifted through the wardrobe and after throwing several gowns out on to the bed, she went through each one, holding them up to her chest in front of the mirror. In a process of careful inspection and elimination she decided on a sleek black frock with cut out back that perfectly highlighted the enticing curvature of her body as well her long, beautifully smooth legs. Now, all that was left was to finish off with some jewellery, and with that chose a perfect half moon shaped necklace she ordered from Newbridge silverware in Ireland, coupled with a combination of some wristbands from the same designer range and she was well on her way to wowing out the crowd. _

_She beamed with the excitement of a high school debutante at the choice of wear for the evening. Usually for such an organised girl, her room was quite clearly in a mess with clothes strewn around the place but it didn't particularly bother her or necessarily occur to her on this occasion. She simply got carried away with the excitement of romance, and with that she ran a nice deserving hot shower. She scrubbed her gloriously naked body behind the screen singing Madonna's like a virgin, albeit with a hint of tone deficiency; after all musicianship wasn't exactly her strong suit. _

_She got out and dried herself off, still beaming and then went through a rather lengthier than usual grooming ritual. After all, this was no ordinary night; everything had to be right. After every possible make up smudge had been inspected carefully yet gleefully, Smith spent the next ten minutes debating to herself; hair up or down, maybe down this time: "damn, wish I had the bloody curling iron with me to give it a bit of style. Oh hell, go with what you got girl and leave it long; maybe a bit of hairspray: damn girl calm down and stop fretting and you'll be fine…. I think"_

_Susan sat in front of the mirror and gave out a short puff of air out through her lips. It seemed that any insecurity that she had about the whole situation seemed to dissolve with the out breath. A self-confident smile developed on her face followed by the uttering of the phrase "your mine baby" into her reflection, obviously being a reference to the lovely Anna. _

_Smith was done and dusted by 20:15 that evening and seen as how the party wasn't due to start until 8:30 decided to relax a while, maybe wait a half, three quarters of an hour until everyone assembled in order to make a grand entrance. Anna wasn't due to arrive until nine anyway so she had time to kill. The nerves of the whole interview process with Asi made her indulge her weakness and buy a pack of cigarettes, which she used as an unfortunate substitute for alcohol these past few days. She felt guilty and weak but at the same time, felt she needed something to take the edge of; after all, getting your cover blown or exposed is the worst fear of every spy. _

_She lit one up outside on the balcony to her hotel room; her third of the day, and contemplated the future. Over the past few weeks she had bouncing messages to and from M and Felix Leiter. "Bloody using bastards" she said to herself about her American cousins. The consensus was to find any incriminating evidence on Marathon and it's partners without doing anything to involve the CIA or spook the local authorities, and who better to do that than the John Bull British, the chaperones to American Imperialism. Better still, a bisexual woman with a preference towards women as a honey trap. "disgusting," She thought to herself. At the same time she thought to herself, "what if something does happen between me and Anna, maybe she could be the one for me." Smith tried not to entertain the idea of falling in love too much. First things first, queen and country before anything else, after that, the country can go screw itself. _

_Smith discarded of the butt with considerable distain and collected her belongings for the evening. It was time to face the music and dance so to speak, and with that she made her way down to the ground floor and outside to the bar overlooking the most pristine beach Smith had ever seen. It was a private beach of course; reserved only for clients with a lot of money and a passion for privacy and exotic luxury. The bar and seating areas consisted of a series of thatched enclosures beautifully furnished by wooden chairs with seat upholster with fine, comfortable white velvet, and warmly lit by candles. The atmosphere was made even more warm by the fact that some of the employees were letting off Chinese sky lanterns in celebration at the completion of yet another successful contract. The focus of much of their attention changed however when Smith entered and turned a considerable number of male heads at the bar in her sleek little number, and largely ignoring of yet still aware of the interests, she ordered a Mojito at the bar. At the time, Steven Parker; a reasonably handsome blonde fellow who worked in Marathon's HR department, was with Victor Mayhew around the Barbeque grill, and couldn't help but notice her. _

_"__Great body eh Parker?" Mayhew said "And she's got brains to burn too."_

_"__that I don't deny Mr Mayhew that I don't deny," Parker said slyly, and whipped up enough courage to approach her, _

_ "Hi" he said "Steven Parker's the name, I'm with the HR department. And you are?"_

_ "Suzanne Sykes" she said, shaking his hand almost hesitantly. _

_"__Oh wow you're British" _

_ "you never would have guessed huh?" she replied. _

_"__I suppose your accent was a dead giveaway. Whereabouts in England are you from anyway?"_

_ "Cambridge" she replied._

_"__wow than you must be either wealthy or talented, Cambridge being a University town and all that?"_

_ "Common misconception," Smith replied._

_"__don't knock yourself Ms. Sykes, after all Soft Machine; one of the greatest art rock groups of all time came out of there you know?" _

_ "Excuse me" Smith replied. Getting up off her stool realising his chat up attempt was getting old. She turned to him and said, "Oh by the way, Soft Machine come from Cantebury not Cambridge; nice try though: good evening Mr Parker," and then walked away. As she was about to go to another table in walked Anna, tantalizingly dressed in a black crop top and yellow maxi dress that had a slit up the middle, exposing her beautifully silky smooth, tanned legs. She wore her hair long and wavy just as Smith liked it, and Smith had no other choice but to be aroused at the sight of her. Smith walked over and initiated the first advance, which altogether felt a little awkward. _

_ "Hi." Smith said excitedly._

_"__Hi" Anna responded in a shy yet reciprocal manner. _

_"__Damn but you're looking fine tonight girl, you're absolutely working that dress." _

_ Anna smiled bashfully. "Thanks, you look amazing yourself" She said. _

_"__Listen Anna, about the other day in Chinatown; can we talk?" _

_ Anna turned on her defences a little and said, "Maybe later Suzanne; not here"_

_ "Ok girl, Maybe later it is then." _

_A short silence followed, and just when Anna needed the distraction, Mayhew announced to the posse that the food was ready. The menu consisted of many tantalizing dishes from skewered lamb kebabs to grilled hake and a variety of delicious salads, all prepared by top class professional chefs hired in for the evening. A DJ was also present playing a variety of Pop hits that became increasingly more dance-like as the night wore on and the employees began to loosen their inhibitions. _

_Smith, like many of the employees at the party couldn't wait to get stuck in, and waited in the queue to collect the food, notably without Anna at her side. _

_ Over the next few hours, and after a few drinks, they had each isolated themselves into separate corners, shielding themselves from each other by engaging in conversation with the various disparate groups of employees they were with, occasionally glancing over at each other. Smith decided she could take no more games and went over to her as proud as punch, in an attempt to shrug off the group she was with and get her attention._

_ "Hi Anna, I wonder could I have a moment of your time alone, if that's alright with the company of course?"_

_ "Sorry guys, we'll catch up later "Anna said to her colleagues and with that the pair was left alone. _

_"__What do want Suzanne?" she said abruptly, in an almost embarrassed tone. _

_"__I want to talk about what happened in Chinatown. Anna I know we have feelings for each other. I can tell by the way you opened up to me, the way you light up when you're around me; the thing is I feel the same way about you, the same way I felt when I met my first girlfriend. The thing is; you make me feel alive when I'm around you. I might have been pushy and I apologise for that, but one thing I'll never be sorry for is who I am, and you shouldn't be either. I know it's not easy but the worst thing you could do is lie to yourself. I know what you're going through and I want you to know that whatever happens between us from here on in that I'm here for you." _

_At that moment Smith's statement of romantic intent seem to rock Anna to her very core. _

_"__God you're so sure of yourself aren't you Suzanne" She retorted, as though she was a cornered animal lashing out with its last line of flimsy defence. _

_"__Maybe," Smith replied. "but at least I know who I am. Stop lying to yourself girl. Stop fighting it and embrace it. Because if you keep going the way you are you'll hate yourself for it." _

_All of sudden Anna became emotional. _

_"__you know what Suzanne; we have nothing more to say to each other. Just leave me alone" she said, and with that, she left the bar upset. Smith called after her but to no avail. It was as though she had opened a window to Anna's true self and her world from now on would never be the same. After all, a habit of years of repressed feelings doesn't dissolve that easily. _

_Feeling naturally dejected at her handling of the situation, Smith quietly cursed herself and retired to the nearest lonely table to be by herself with her drink. _

_Like a lone wolf, Mayhew spotted her by herself, and seeing that rest of the employees were getting carried away with the night's festivities, he decided to wander over and make the move he had been baying to make since he laid eyes on her. It was made all the more easier by the fact that his alcohol consumption that night had significantly lowered his inhibitions. _

_ "Suzanne" He said jovially as he inched his way down beside her. Displeased, she rolled her eyes away from him in disgust. _

_ "Sorry Victor I'm not in a very talkative mood right now" She said. _

_"__Oh come on now Suzanne, lighten up. It is a party after all. I gotta say Suzanne the way you handled that kid was amazing. I can see you're a woman of many talents Suzanne, which begs the question; where else do your talents lie?"_

_ With that Mayhew reached out placed his hand lecherously on Smith's exposed thigh. _

_ "I'm glad you approve Mr. Mayhew, get your fucking hands off me" She replied in a calm yet commanding manner, jerking her leg to release his hold. _

_ "Ooh you're a little fighter aren't you Miss Sykes. Well I'm going let you in on little home truth. I think you're a little spy, and I know you were going through Michael Reese's computer to gain access to our financial records. You know they don't treat spies too kindly in this country, so unless you want me to spill the beans to the authorities you prissy little bitch, your going to follow me up to my room right now or your going to be balls deep in a whole load of trouble"_

_ Susan said nothing. She turned to him calmly and stared into his face, again donning that false saccharin smile. _

_ "Balls being the operative word Mr. Mayhew." She said, and with that, she grabbed a handful of his crotch and squeezed hard. His face contorted in silent agony. _

_ "Now you listen to me you sleazy little shit!" she said authoritatively. "you want me? Then you should know something. I come with a price, and I have certain skills that can disappear your sorry life into an early grave, and still make it look like an accident. Maybe a heart attack might be the way to go for you? It certainly wouldn't be uncommon for a man your age. Alternatively, maybe you'd like to die in a car accident? So the next time you place your sleazy greasy paws on another less suspecting girl; remember my face! Understand? Say I understand Suzanne."_

_ "I understand." He grunted in agony. _

_"__Good" She replied "Smile! After all, this is a party and you don't want to cause a scene now do you." And with that, she let go and he collapsed into his seat in agonised relief. She brushed past him and made her exit from the bar quietly. _

_Smith wandered down the corridor in a self-confident strut, having patted herself on the back for the way she dealt with Mayhew. At the same time she didn't underestimate the urgency of the present situation. She had the night to get to the truth about her enemies, and realised that they wouldn't do anything rash to draw attention to themselves. Tonight was a night for letting go of all inhibitions and she knew exactly how to play the situation. _

_She came to room 513; Anna's room, carrying in hand her peace offering of a champagne cooler and two glasses and knocked confidently on the door. Anna appeared still dressed in her scintillating get up from that evening. _

_ "Hi Suzanne" she said reservedly "Listen I'm…" _

_"__You don't have to say you're sorry Anna. Look I come armed only with good intentions." She presented the champagne cooler " I thought you and I might like to share a quiet drink, on me. A friend of mine says this is a good vintage for breaking the ice so to speak."_

_ Anna smiled "then you'd better come in" she said, and Susan wilfully obeyed. _

_She aptly hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob before entering, closed the door behind and relaxed at the settee. There, she masterfully popped open the cork of the champagne bottle and decanted the golden aphrodisiac with tender loving care into the two glasses. She presented one to Anna, who shyly sat on the end of the settee, possibly signalling to Susan a sense of reservation on her part. Yet at the same time Anna accepted the glass and smiled reciprocally, meaning that she was there for taking but something was still holding her back. _

_ "Great work we did back there with the Mangurun case, huh" Anna said._

_"__yeah" Susan answered. A tense pause followed, as the ladies swigged their champagne cautiously without making eye contact. "Look Anna" Smith said "I'm not going to lie to you, and just listen to me please before you say anything. I came here to find out what your feeling, and to be honest I think I'm in love with you. But at the same time because I am, I will respect your wishes whatever you decide. I just don't want you to go through life torturing yourself and realising you never reached your potential because of some dogma. On the face of it, I may be sassy and confident and even bitchy at times but tonight I have no armour. Just let me inside and talk to me. Just allow your true self to express itself in whatever way you want it to, and who knows maybe it'll set you free."_

_ Anna broke down and sobbed "I can't do this Suzanne I'm scared." she said tearfully. Susan laid her glass decisively on the coffee table and consolingly placed her arm around Anna. _

_ "You don't have to be scared anymore Anna. I'm here with you now."_

_"__but I can't" she exclaimed in an almost tortured fashion, whilst still at the same time not shrugging off Susan's embrace. "It's an affront to everything I believe in," she said, "and if I let my feelings for you express themselves I'll lose everything that I hold dear"_

_ Susan placed her hand lovingly on Anna's cheek and turned her face towards hers and uttered softly. "that's a myth Anna. I thought that too. But we can't be afraid of our feelings all the time; especially if we know them to be morally right, learn to trust them: just let yourself go." _

_ With that Susan carefully leaned in to kiss her. Anna closed her eyes and hesitantly opened her mouth in receipt of the gesture. It wasn't long before her inhibitions receded and she tenderly reciprocated the kiss, which slowly grew from soft pecking to a full passionate engagement of their two mouths. At that moment, every atom of Anna's being was utterly liberated, surrendering to a moment from which there could be no going back. It wasn't long before Anna was becoming adept at the game of loving, and with that, she wrapped her legs around Susan's waist, sitting on her lap. _

_ Susan hoisted herself up off the seat and passionately pressed Anna's body against the adjoining wall which caused a precariously placed shaded lamp to fall and stumble to the ground. Completely oblivious to it; the couple, still locked in loving embrace hurriedly made for the bed. They lay down on it, kissing, and Anna naughtily unzipped the back of Susan's dress whilst in a concerted motion Susan removed Anna's top to reveal her fine, firm olive skinned breasts. _

_ Before long the couple were naked in their unity, and Susan masterfully began to move southwards, stimulating Anna's skin with soft kisses and playful bites eventually encapsulating her left nipple in her mouth whilst moving her hand down between her legs, probing her erogenous zones internally with her finger in a soft pulsating motion. _

_ Anna's body suddenly quivered with an orgasmic chill and she let out a soft, submissive loving sigh. It was as though the walls of her cage of doubt were steadily, finally becoming eroded and the light of freedom was beckoning at last. However the best was yet to come and good things come to those who wait. _

_ In her sexual savvy, Susan began to move further downwards, gently kissing and kneading Anna's perfect abdomen with her teeth. She moved off the bed, placed Anna's silken tanned thighs over her shoulders, and with her head placed between her legs; allowed her experience to go to work. Anna's soft moans suddenly developed into an ecstatic cry of submissive liberation, and in that present moment of truth and blissful pleasure, every fibre that made up her being cast off the now old and troublesome chains of repression. The cage completely dissolved; at last finally free. _


	10. Chapter 10

_CHAPTER 10_

_Friends In Low Places_

_Anna lay in bed beside Susan blissfully gazing up at the ceiling. In her in whole existence, right up until now, she never thought she would ever receive love. Even though she knew she was capable of it and often dreamed of it, she hid it from view simply just to please others and not herself._

_A tremendous weight had been lifted now that Susan Smith imposed herself on her world, and it didn't take her long to realise that she had some innate sexual talents of her own. _

_Susan, though more than happy to oblige in the loss of her virginity; had other thoughts on her mind. She contemplated how she was going to break the cold hard truth to Anna without comprising the mission and still remain in her good books? She lay in bed with the sheets covered over the lower extremities of her glorious body; naked breasts exposed to view and reached out lazily over to the bedside table for her cigarette box. She extracted a lone cigarette and guiltily lit it up. It was her fifth, possibly sixth of the day but she was no longer keeping count and she smoked it almost anxiously as though it was an impulsive reaction to a potentially dangerous developing situation. _

_Anna, aroused by the soft pale body beside her, leaned in to Susan, gently stroking her forearm with the back of her hand and kissed her softly on the cheek._

_ "__That was amazing hon, where have you been all my life?"_

_ "__Glad you liked it," Susan said, through a mouthful of smoke. She quickly reciprocated the gesture and returned to her cigarette. She took another drag and blew out the smoke out in a single slow apathetic puff._

_Anna deduced a hint of worry on Smith's behalf. "Is there something wrong hon?" She asked._

_"__No nothing," Smith said, as though she was pretending that everything was rosy. Then all of a sudden, in the middle of another poisonous inhalation, she reconsidered and disgustedly extinguished it in the ashtray. _

_ "__Anna," she said, with a hint of self-reproach. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely truthful now try not to be too upset or freaked out Ok: you see, I am a spy." Anna recoiled. She was slightly miffed by the response, and went back to gazing at the ceiling. _

_"__Look Anna I know it's a little bit much to take right now and I can't say much, except to say that your bosses are in to some bad things. I came here to do a job, but didn't expect to fall in love. I just want you to know that."_

_"__And that job was to sleep with me for information, wasn't it?" _

_"__Anna please; it wasn't like that." _

_"__No I completely understand Suzanne; if that is your real name that is?"_

_"__I'm Sorry, maybe__ this was a mistake," Smith said "Maybe__ I shouldn't have done this; I think I should go."_

_As Smith was about to climb out of bed, Anna gently caught hold of her arm. _

_"__Wait", she said. "I understand… I suspected as much, there was always something about you that I couldn't quite figure out. I just chose to ignore it because to tell you the truth, that's what attracted me to you. I felt the same way about you from the moment I met you. You saved me and I owe you: so I'll help you."_

_ Susan leaned in and the pair shared a soft kiss. "Now were talking girl," she said. "I promise from now on no more secrets; no more lies, and I will guarantee your safety, you can be sure of that. I work with a guy named Felix Leiter who's a CIA agent here. All I need is a little information and my work here is done and we can be off."_

_ "Well in that case, what do you want to know?" Anna replied. _

_"__First of all I couldn't help but notice on Reese's computer that Marathon received a payment from a company called Radionica Industries; do you know anything about that."_

_ "Radionica, yeah Soref's company" Anna said_

_"__Moishe Soref?" Smith replied _

_ "You know him?"_

_"__Yes." Smith replied, "He's a person of particular interest to my people; anyway go on?" she said exchanging another soft peck._

_ "Well anyway he's one of our biggest clients, he comes to the Philippines to do business with us a couple of times a year; Israeli I think. He's kinda creepy you know; very serious type. He gives you the impression he'd kill you if tried to double-cross him just by looking at him. Anyway, we train private security personnel for high-risk security work all over the Philippines. When we first met, he wanted to employ our services to guard his plant in Maguindanao province, as there's a lot of terrorist violence going on there. I found this a little strange at first; you see part of my job is risk assessment, and as director of intelligence, I need to conduct a feasibility study of every operation before I can allow the deployment of personnel so I quizzed him about. Michael Wolchik, our CEO was there at the time." _

_"__What's he like? Wolchik" Smith asked. _

_"__Wolchik; Oh don't get me started there. He can be very charming when he wants to be. Handsome in his own way I suppose, but he's smug you know; almost to the point of being a bit racist. He hates the whole Muslim thing. As far as I know, he grew up in one of those whack Bible belt churches. Anyway, I eventually got it out of Soref that the contract was for guarding the nuclear power plant there. Apparently this plant was built by the Easting Corporation in the 90's for $600 million on a loan they took out from the World Bank, and it's been laying there inactive for a decade."_

_ "Why's that?" Smith asked. _

_"__The authorities at the time deemed it unsafe. It didn't comply with the building regulations, something to do with it being prone to earthquake damage. When the Asian financial crisis hit in 1998 the Philippine government was left holding the baby so to speak as regards the debt incurred in order to build it. The IMF made the government sell the plant in order to restructure the debt and Pantheon: a parent company of Radionica, bought it up."_

_ "Pantheon eh," Smith replied "hmm"_

_"__You suspect something?"_

_ "Oh nothing, it's not important," Smith said disarmingly, and reached over to the bedside table for another cancer stick. "And do you know where this place is." She asked._

_ "Buluan municipality: just about two miles outside the barangay of Dilag."_

_"__thanks darling, you're a star" Smith said, as she moved in for another kiss. _

_"__And now, is it Ok if I finally know your real name?" Anna asked. _

_ "Sure hon, its Susan, Susan Smith."_

_"__Susan, Suzanne; hmm, that's interesting. Although it is kinda flimsy for a cover being so close to your real name, but you know what they say; potato patato. " Anna said. They both shared a brief laugh. _

_ "Now Miss Smith" She added with a confident playfulness "Is there time before you leave for another lesson in English mannerisms?"_

_ "God damn girl, you just read my mind." Smith said, quenching her cigarette, and they both collapsed in to each other's arms in a loving embrace. _

_The following morning at dawn, Susan had strategically awoken before Anna, who was fast asleep and seeing the perfect naked specimen of near eastern beauty lying there in the bed, she leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek. Anna didn't respond, and Smith saw this as her signal to slip out of the room undetected._

_ By the time she made her way back to her own room, it was 6:30 in the morning, and with that, smith decided to take a long refreshing shower and change into some casual Hilfiger jeans and a black turtleneck sleeveless top. She had already made sure to pack her things the night before as she realised that Mayhew by now would have alerted his boss Wolchik about the whole incident with Reese. She didn't want to tempt fate for too long by staying around the hotel. The plan was to get some breakfast and rustle up a cheap hired car to take her to Buluan. First thought it was time to report on the results of evenings festivities to M and Felix Leiter. _

_ She got one the smaller suitcases she had with her and placed it on the bed. She opened it and sifted through the contents, consisting of mainly clothing, and retrieved the small object that was her Sig Sauer handgun, reassuringly encased in its holster. It was indeed a relief, as she never knew when she might need it, after all the game had now been elevated up a notch. She checked it as per habit developed during her military training and placed it back into the holster, strapping it around her body, and throwing on a casual suede jacket over herself in order to conceal it. _

_ Smith caught an early breakfast of __Tapsilog __in the restaurant; a rather heavy dish of meat and eggs with garlic fried rice which hit the spot and was just enough to keep her going for a few hours. By 7:45, she had checked out of the hotel. __ The room at the waterfront insular had been paid for by direct debit out of Marathon's personnel expenses account, and Smith decided to milk them for every penny of it. However, she did find it strangely unsettling that there were no questions asked at the counter about it. Could it be that they left it that way on purpose, so that they could move in when she least expected them to. Either way, it was best to get out of there, preferably sooner rather than later. _

_Whilst Smith was fixing up her bill at reception, she caught the eye of a Hispanic gentleman sitting in the lobby. He glanced at her a few times; occasionally looking up from his morning paper. It was as though he was watching her but at the same time knew how to remain inconspicuous. He looked as though he could possibly be of Afro-Caribbean extraction and despite the smart yet casual dress, one would be able to discern a possible history of military training on his part, more than likely US Military. He certainly looked the part, owing his high-and-tight haircut and soldierly looks, made all the more sinister by the black eye patch over his left eye. As it turns out, the gentleman was in fact an ex US Serviceman, Marine Corps to be exact. _

_His name was Raphael Dominguez and earned the eye patch in 2002 when his squad was captured by the Taliban in Tora Bora, Afghanistan where apparently they decided to have a little fun and make an example of him by removing one of his eyeballs, albeit under a heavy anaesthetic of opium at the time. After enduring a considerable amount of pain he managed to trick his handlers in to helping him escape and much to their detriment, they all wound up dead. _

_Some years after that when he was honourably discharged in 2005, he became an employee of Marathon, feeling right at home with Wolchik's dim, narrow, and often extreme politics, just the kind of man to hire as personal minion. _

_Smith exited the building, giving no indication that she detected him, and as soon as she was out of sight, he immediately got on his Cell phone. _

_"__Hey it's Dominguez. You got her in your sights?'' He said in his mild yet affirmative American accent. _

_A Filipino voice obediently emanated from the other end of the receiver in response. _

_"__yees sur, she has got into a taxi just now."_

_ "Follow her and don't lose her." Dominguez commanded. "And remember she is not to be harmed understood."_

_ "yees sur" the Filipino man said and with that ended the call. _

_Dominguez rose from his seat and laid the paper on the table in front of him. He went over to a porter. "Excuse me, Ralph Nadin private investigator." He said producing what looked to be like a business card. "I'm working on a case with local police; can you show me where room 515 is please?"_

_ "yees of course," The porter said " Eets on the fifth floor"_

_"__take me there". Dominguez said, producing a small wad of notes and slipping them into the porter's more than appreciative breast pocket. "Oh and keep this between ourselves." He added. _

Smith took the cab to downtown Davao where she was dropped of at municipal headquarters. She had spent most of the journey going through the internet on her Smartphone and found a suitable Toyota Vios, an Asian version of the Yaris, which was popular in Europe, and only went for a mere 5000 pesos (approximately 100 Euros) for two days rental.

She entered the surprisingly plush modern showroom where she was met by

The customer service representative who went over the details of the agreement, and Smith, being satisfied she wasn't being screwed over hastily signed the forms and waivers. He showed her out to the parking lot to view her purchase. Satisfied that everything was in working order, she thanked who left her alone with the knowledge of having landed yet another happy customer.

She waited until he was a considerable distance away from him so she could get on her phone and call Felix Leiter. She dialled the number M had given her, which much to her annoyance was the voice mailbox number of Cybertel Inc; A CIA front company. Take it from the CIA to leave their allies dangling on the line, which was probably being monitored.

She had dealt with Leiter before in the past. They first crossed paths during a NATO allied intelligence conference she attended just before she was stationed in Iraq in order to discuss shared intelligence on Al Qaeda networks operating there. Behind his easy going personality and soft intellectual African American facial features (most notably the beard), Smith deduced that he had a tendency to be a tad smarmy, and could have a high capacity for bullshit when he wanted to, which altogether made him a reputable agent. After much dangling, she finally managed to get through to his extension.

"Felix Leiter here, how can I help?"

"Save your bloody false costumer service mannerisms Leiter, do you realise the shit I had to go through with voicemail just to get you on this line; I could have killed you." Smith said.

"Ah 005, you're still in one piece, glad to hear that. As for customer service, you know what they say don't you, we aim to please. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah I understand alright, but then again Bond and M did warn me about dealing with the CIA after whole debacle in Bolivia. You Americans can be a duplicitous pack of arseholes when you want to be."

"Says the lady whose people screwed the world for 500 years" Leiter joked. "But then again I suppose you Brits are still not used to playing second fiddle yet are you?"

"I suppose your right. Anyway you'll be pleased to know Felix that I just found out where _Flaming Sword _are getting there material from."

"Oh really, now that would be interesting to know, shoot"

"Just a minute Mr. Leiter, I'm not giving it over that easily. Firstly I want your reassurance that Anna Amore will get your full protection."

"So you finally got to her huh. So, was she good?"

"Just stick to the business in hand Felix yeah."

"Ok, ok I get the message. Alright you got a deal."

"Good, now what can you tell me about the Buluan nuclear power station."

"Ah I see," Leiter said, almost with a sense of reluctance. "I take it you want to know everything we have on the place, suspicions and so forth?"

"Well that would be helpful Felix yes."

"Ok Susan, well suffice is to say we have had our eye on that place for quite some time now but it's a kind of a touchy subject for our politicians and corporations you know. Too many special interests involved, especially with the increase in our governments need for the so-called 'transparency' of International organisations associated with Washington. Chalk it down to those Wall Street, ACLU liberal assholes who want to see a Democrat in the White House come election time. "

"I gathered that Felix. Moreover, would those special interests involve Pantheon Corporation by any chance? I did have a look at Marathon's accounts. Apparently, they hire Marathon to do some security work for them. Would you care to comment on that?"

Leiter responded in a manner that was somewhat diplomatic with the truth. "I can't comment on any private dealings because to be honest with you I don't know the whole story. However, I can say that we have been interested in using the place as leverage to oust Aquino from power. He's pro Iran you know and we can't tolerate that. Then all of a sudden along you guys came with your problem with that Ali Abd-al-Hamid guy in Iraq, so I saw an avenue in which both of us could benefit by pooling our resources, killing two birds with the one stone if you will."

"So you basically decided to use the good old Brits to do the donkey work _if you will._" Smith said.

"If you put it like that babe yeah, I talked to M about just recently and she has agreed that now that your involved, you can go the whole hog and stake out the place, collect photos or any evidence that might lead us to shutting down the pipeline."

"Basically you want me to sacrifice my arse without involving you guys, am I right Felix"

"Pretty much honey yeah"

"Nice," Smith replied, letting out a short heavy breath that implied that another massive weight was suddenly placed on her shoulders.

"If it's any consolation we have a small team of mercs waiting at your disposal. We trust these guys. We've paid them and trained them up a great deal to handle such situations."

"And I suppose that's going to make me feel a whole lot better is it Felix?"

"Don't worry 005, these guys know what their doing. We use them the same way you British use the Increment, that private army of yours. Their led by an Irish person; Ex-pat: his name is Peter McCarthy. He was part of team six; you know the Navy SEALS spec-ops team? We use him on occasions like these when he's not providing security for fat Lebanese bastards trading diamonds in Sierra Leone."

"Fighting fire with fire eh, I like your touch, and how can I hook up with this gentleman?"

"I sent you on an email to your Universal exports account with his details and recognition code, M has given it the all clear. Once we've neutralised the threat, Michael Wolchik and the SITCO guys will be easy to deal with. M wants to give them immunity in exchange for everything they know about _Flaming Sword_. I suppose the question now is are you up for it?"

"I guess I don't have a choice in the matter, but next time you have a problem, at least let us in on all the details before getting the service to play the sacrificial lamb yeah"

"Will do" Leiter said wryly "Anything to get that fine white ass of yours back home in one piece."

"Glad you noticed" Smith said.

"Perhaps there's hope for us males yet Susan" Leiter joked, "you could definitely see a thing between yourself and Alan Landers when you guys hooked up at the conference; we brothers do tend to notice these things, even the ones in rival firms. "

"I know you and him are bosom buddies but I don't swing that way with guys from the office, we were just casual acquaintances, and anyway, not that's it's any of your business, Alan and I are old news."

"whatever you say babe" Leiter said wryly " I forgot you like to swing both ways, which kinda does make things a little complicated, Goodbye 005" he replied.

"Goodbye Felix" She uttered, taking it on the chin, and with that Leiter hung up, satisfied in the knowledge that he had a touched a nerve and enjoyed it.

.

"Arsehole" she muttered to herself as she ended the call, and after packing up the boot of the car, sat in and immediately signed in to her email account. The message had come as Leiter promised and she opened the attachment containing a photo of the man and a PDF file with the recognition code, which took a few moments to memorize off by heart. Being content in the knowledge that she was ready, she deleted the attachment and started up the engine. The meeting had been prearranged for 09:20 that morning at the Agong café in Duterte street; a relatively more modern and highly urbanized area of Davao City which sported a MacDonald's restaurant and all the usual western trappings.

After much negotiation of the streets, Smith found a suitable parking space, which was not easy, even by having a sat-nav, and given the fact that the local authorities severely clamped down on illegal parking in the area. Illegal parking had often been associated with organised criminal gangs looking for easy escape routes. It didn't really bother Smith that much, who took everything in and even enjoyed the challenges of driving in a foreign country, possibly because it gave her a thrill and a sense of self-determination.

Smith entered the café at around 08:55 that morning which was a largely unremarkable building to look at but on the inside was as comfortable as any Starbucks or Costa outlet she had ever been to in Europe or America. She ordered a large mocha and chose a quiet corner of the premises, sparsely populated this hour of the morning. It was a perfect choice for a rendezvous as most of the customers coming in were people commuting to work and looking for a morning caffeine fix much like people in the west.

As she sat down to savour the Javanese brew, which she found surprisingly good, a notably fit Caucasian male wandered into the café. It was her contact McCarthy. He was the kind that to look at him he could easily blend in as a face in the crowd, as he wore stereotypical civvies; combat shorts and sunglasses over his head. His large face sported a medium heavy ginger goatee beard that fully encircled a relatively soft mouth, which gave him a sort of bouncer type look. However, any deduction of such profession, at first glance would have instantly been quashed by the full head of ginger hair on his skull. After all the effectiveness of his profession depended on the fact that appearances can be deceiving.

Having spotted the only western woman in the café sitting down on her own enjoying her coffee, it was anyone's guess therefore that he could easily pass off as single man to any ignorant civilian, possibly trying to small talk his way into a holiday romance. With that, he sat down beside her initiated the conversation in the manner of the recognition code agreed.

"Hi?" he said cheerfully, in his slightly Americanized Dublin Irish accent.

"Hi" She replied, courteously yet cautiously.

"That looks good, tell me miss is that Columbian blend?"

"yes." She replied

"it can be difficult to get in this country can't it?" He said. "Especially when your heart is set so much on Java."

"Exactly." She uttered "Susan Smith special expediter with Universal Exports; Special Operations division of SIS: Delighted to meet you. And you must be Mr McCarthy."

They shook hands briskly.

"nice to meet you, call me Peter for god's sake. So 00 section huh, license to kill; you guys are good. Getting to be a 00 is no easy feat let me tell you. That takes accomplishment."

"It also means great sacrifice Peter." Susan replied.

"No Doubt," He replied. "Being a secret warrior in a dirty business I know where you're coming from. You know I was actually considering joining the British Para's initially but my parents being Irish would have probably disowned me. Luckily I got into the SEALS instead. So tell me Susan which number are you?"

"005" she replied

"There can't be many of you around. Ex military I take it?"

Susan donned a look of imperviousness. "Now now Peter, we can't be letting you in on all our secrets now can we?"

"No I suppose not, but don't worry Felix has got your back" he said "we've gone through this mill before; you know dealing with operationally risky situations and all."

"What's the opposition like, strength wise?" Smith asked.

"Well the place is heavily guarded but we'll get you in their alright. Felix says your one of the best: after James Bond of course."

"thanks for the vote of confidence?" Smith said, "It's seems like a lot of action for an abandoned Nuclear plant."

"yeah I thought the same thing too." McCarthy replied. "that was until I read the reports that prior to the bombing of your embassy in Mombasa. The Philippine Nuclear watchdog apparently shut down the main reactors at the plant but surprisingly enough kept the waste reprocessing plant open. It has been pretty active on and off since Pantheon bought it."

Smith smiled thoughtfully, sipped her coffee and reflected, and enlightened by the fact that the cat was finally out of the bag now. All those weeks of hard graft would culminate in that final moment of truth; a deathblow to private sector military and intelligence services, or perhaps a way of blackmailing and controlling them.

"So what's the plan?" Smith asked.

Just as McCarthy was about to respond, a customer brushed past them to get to the lavatory. He briefly paused, handing her a folder he had with him in his possession then resumed his story.

"We…We Just so happened to have gotten our hands on some plans of the place," He whispered "I can show you better on the map when we meet at the rendezvous point. I got two other people with me. One of them's a SEAL whose name is Harden, and the other a French Foreign Legion guy named Barrios. There top class guys, very experienced in this field so we have nothing to worry about."

"All the same, are you sure you checked them out" Smith asked.

"Yeah of course, I work closely with them all the time. They're 100% on the level. Anyway I believe our plan should be twofold. Number one; get inside the office and hack the computer for material supplier records to Radionica, and two; get some photos of the refinement process. "

"I don't know about you peter but doesn't radiation bother you in the slightest. I know it does to me. Don't get me wrong, I love my country but I don't want to end up on a hospital bed with lymphoma or something."

"I thought the same thing myself. Then your Q Branch gave us a call before I came here. Some young fella named Geoffrey wants you to go down town to the Philippine post office on JP Laurel Avenue and pick up a few packages that might help us with that; didn't say what they were. It's not far from here."

"Good old Q branch never let us down. Anyway, I'll get on that ASAP." Smith replied "So Mr McCarthy looks like you have yourself an alliance. Now all I need is the time and place to rendezvous."

"I thought you'd never ask. Drive up to the North Western Shore of Lake Buluan to a place called Rajah Buayan Convention centre. About two miles away when you cross into Buluan is an old abandoned boathouse that was used by local anglers before the mining companies became the cause of polluting the water around there. Anyway, we'll meet you there tonight at 20:30 hrs, the rear of the plant is located about a quarter of a klick north of the lake through a small forested area. You'll have to stake out the place before we arrive. We shouldn't have many problems as regards patrolling guards but just in case."

"That's good to know." Smith said. "we don't wont a gun battle on our hands. M has enough on her plate besides seeing my face on CNN or Sky News."

"Nor mine Ms Smith. My costumers like discretion also."

Smith hastily finished off the final dregs of frothy, chocolaty coffee left in her cup in one fowl swallow and proceeded to get up off her seat. McCarthy rose from his

"Well Peter it appears that everything seems to be in order." She said.

"It appears so Susan, all you need to do is make sure and be ready and up there by 20:30. Tell me are you packing?"

Smith held out the lapel of her jacket to reveal the small flat bulge that was her pistol strapped around her body.

"Sig P230, hmm that's a bit puny don't you think?"

"the main thing is I know how to use it: Goodbye Mr McCarthy" she said courteously.

"Goodbye Susan." He replied. They then shook hands on the newly formed alliance and with that; Smith exited the coffee shop before he did.

She made her way for the Vios that thankfully wasn't shifted or broken into while she was gone. Davao city had been less developed than any other city in the Philippines. To Smith however it had slightly more character in contrast to the modernity of Cebu. It was a melting pot of many different cultures on the archipelago, consisting largely of Visayans, Tagalogs, and other native tribes on the island.

The provinces of Mindanao had seen the most tensions between religious and political clans than anywhere else in the country, and to celebrate the diversity and peaceful coexistence of the natives, the government instituted the Aliwan Fiesta; a pan Philippine festival of native tribal dances and parades held all over the country since 2003. This was quite popular, especially in Davao, and much to the impatience of Smith, the way up to JP Luarel Avenue was blocked for almost three quarters of an hour by floats and armies of dancers and drummers in slow procession diverting left onto Loyola street.

She finally made to the post office around eleven and picked up her package from an overweight and under interested Filipina woman whose cantankerous mood didn't do much to brighten Smith's day. Out in the car while she was loading to parcel into the boot she removed the brown paper packaging and opened the white cardboard box to reveal what was inside. It was a set of what appeared to be four body armoured black vests amongst which was planted a note. Smith picked it up and read it; it said.

_To 005, I thought you might like to have these along in your little adventure. They are body armour suits with the added refinement of having a special semi-metal composite material that can absorb radiation of up to 200 Rads. It's lighter than lead so it easier to carry around. They're the latest in military technology and the Ministry of Defence is adapting them for use in the Nuclear Biological and Chemical warfare department of the Royal Corps of Engineers. Hope you have fun with them. Do take care of yourself and maybe when this is all over we can hook up for a coffee._

_ Best wishes _

_ Geoffrey. _

"ha, good old Geoffrey, trying extra hard to impress me as usual", Smith joked. As it turns out, Geoffrey had only been assigned to Q Branch just a few months ago. He showed so much of an aptitude (and indeed attitude and initiative) that he was selected for the job of quartermaster, otherwise known as Q, and was singled out to replace old Major Boothroyd who was due for retirement a few months ago.

Geoffrey was an enterprising person whose brainpower dictated that he had his own way of doing things and could do them in his sleep while others would be thinking about it. A geeky sort of person but in sexy way, he compensated for his sometimes single-minded nature by being incredibly bright. Apparently, he designed a revolutionary computer application when he was just nineteen, which formed the basis of a program used by GCHQ to analyse specific pieces of metadata from huge volumes of information. This of course was lapped up by M, who offered him a job when he was caught by the police for hacking the local station computer in order to quash a court appearance he was to have. He had been done in by the law when he was in college for being at a house party where there was some antisocial behaviour going on amongst his flat mates. Geoffrey had tried to act the hard man by singing the immortal line 'fuck you I won't do what you tell me,' from Rage against the machine's _killing in the name of_ to police as they questioned him.

Geoffrey was a bit of a savant when it came to hacking and security. Smith liked him but he was bit awkward when it came to matters of the heart. One day after an Intelligence briefing he propositioned her for a date in the middle of a working day and in front of several colleagues, violating the single rule of seduction. Susan tactfully of course turned him down by saying she was seeing someone and wanted to be just friends. She liked him and respected his talents and abilities and often worked with him in order to put them to good use in Iraq, and occasionally he would attempt to be charming towards her beyond his means. Overall however they had a good relationship as he was a rebel and she liked rebels. Smith liked to surround herself with people who weren't comfortable with life as comfortable people have less talent.

Errands done, Smith slammed the boot shut in a single sharp motion, got into her car and drove off onto Douglas McArthur highway, (a notable name and reminder of the Philippine nation's debt to the west post world war II). She turned off for the pan Philippine highway and onto Cotabato road bound for Buluan where destiny awaited with keen anticipation.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_T__he Opposer_

The beautiful Philippine countryside enthralled Smith as she drove along the Cotabato road. She deliberately chose not to turn on the air conditioning, as it was a fine tropical day and instead let the window down to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of the place. It seemed an inappropriate choice to have Metallica's _And Justice For All _album blaring away in the car, but she was hyping herself up for action. This coupled with the fact that, on the outlying chance she might be required to use that flat bulge inside in her holster to deadly effect.

For the moment, all that concerned her was getting to Buluan on time and staking out the place. As she drove by the tropical vista almost reminded her of a scene from a Vietnam War movie, albeit deathly serene. She could see the occasional farmer in the fields by the roadside wearing the traditional sun hats, planting rice, oblivious to the cares and concerns of the modern world. Serenity though has its deceptions, and she had noticed the four-wheel drive trailing about a half a mile behind her that had been following her since she got out of the city limits; spies tend to notice these things.

In Smith's business, it helps to know the history of your enemy in order to manipulate and defeat them and in this part of the Philippines, seeing convoys of jeeps and four-wheel drives wasn't always a good thing. During Marcos's reign from the 1960's to the 80's, The Ampatuan clan were often agents of his government, and sent out militias in such vehicles to deal with local malcontents.

The island of Mindanao was unlike any other place in the Philippines. European Christianity never really took root here and the island was home to the most diverse cultures and languages on the archipelago. It was natural then that passions between native Moros (Muslims) and the forces of western ideologies were often enflamed.

Smith turned over the Aquino political situation in her mind, and it occurred to her that western elites often know history better than most normal everyday people know. Thus, they are better placed to use it to their advantage. She realised in that moment that she was just a minor player in the grander scheme of things. It was unholy business arrangement between advantageous corporate interests with too much money and too much power. No matter where you go in the world, every political faction no matter how well intentioned, is just looking for a piece of the action.

Action, being the operative word, was all too real for her and now that she was edging closer to her destination, she began to feel that adrenaline surge which so excited and so terrified her at the same time.

By about 2:30 that afternoon the Vios pulled up at Rajah Buayan Convention Centre in the province of Sultan Kudarat. It was an odd mixture of titles, Rajahs and Sultans; reflecting the many cultural and religious systems that had taken root here over the centuries by Muslim Arabs and Hindu traders from the Indian subcontinent, guided by the great monsoon trade winds that brought them to these islands. The diversity of language in Mindanao was such that you could travel 15 to 30 km up the road and have to deal with a different ethnicity and language.

Smith had become all to aware of this fact when she asked a couple of random locals around the convention centre for directions to Buluan and with little English, they answered her back in Maguindanao Iranun dialect, a language she hadn't studied or prepared for. Still, she came prepared and knowing that sat navs, even at the best of times can be flawed creations, had a local map with her. It didn't take long for them to point the way and she thanked them cordially and sat into the car.

Smith drove the car up the road for about three quarters of a mile until she reach the Muslim style archway which said in English; WELCOME TO BULUAN. An elderly Filipino man with an age-battered face, dressed in a T-shirt and flannel shorts was lazing there sunning himself. He gandered at the flash vehicle as it passed, as if to size up the blow-in that had just come into his town.

He was the least of Smith's worries, as the car that was following her had now seemingly disappeared from view and that troubled her to a certain extent, as tails don't usually stop midway in their surveillance. Something was up and she didn't know what, and not knowing or being able to anticipate the unexpected troubled her deeply inside. Her sleek yet tough veneer compensated for the doubts and she contended that until something dangerous happens, employ the Churchillian phrase now increasingly immortalised as an everyday slogan in the west: keep calm and carry on.

At about a mile an a half up the road, she was in the southern portion of the barangay of Dilag and she made a turn off to the left down a dirt road that led to the northern shore of the lake. She parked the car in a shaded spot by a tropical Ficus tree, got out and took in the pristine vista. There lay the old boathouse on the shore of the lake, battered and long since abandoned. The local anglers had not used it years and even though the vista was serene, there was an eerie serenity to it. It was as if the silent killer of industrialisation and pollution had ripped the heart of a community apart. Man destroys what he builds often but nature wastes nothing and nature has a funny of behaving in symbiotic fashion with humankind.

During the best years of the lakes activity, the nuclear plant had been pumping hot wastewater into it, which at first seemed good, as the fish gathered towards the heat and anglers became familiar with all the good spots from which to make their catches. Then the mining consortiums took over and began leeching toxic pollutants into the water that along with the heat reduced the lakes oxygen capacity resulting in fish kills.

It wasn't until the locals, mistrustful of the government, protested resulting in the politician to resort to any means possible to shut it down. They concocted the story that the plant was earthquake unsafe; an arrangement which suited the world bank and Easting Corporation, as it meant the Filipino developers would be able to pocket the money and not pay it back, enslaving the country and its people further in debt and the obligations thereof.

Ironically enough Smith had been doing a little research of the plants history before she arrived and it turned out that McCarthy and Leiter were right. The plant was never really shut down; it was simply deactivated; put on hold so to speak, and still made money for the government by selling by products from the reprocessing plant.

Smith wondered then if Bonifacio Samillion Aquino's only crime was actually caring for his people, but quickly tried not to engage in her thoughts, as after all she was a secret warrior for regime change when the occasion arose.

A klick in US Military terms meant a kilometre and Smith, aware of the slang set about gathering her equipment for her excursion through the woods. She got out a pair of field binoculars which she had with her in the glove compartment, with a keen view of course to seeing what Marathon and its business partner were finally getting up to all these months.

She lay the binoculars on the passenger seat, took off her jacket and gun, got out a suit bag out of the boot and discreetly stripped to her underwear whilst sitting in the car. The suit bags contained black night reconnaissance wear that was to be her uniform for the evening. Once she was all kitted up she slung the deadly little pistol around her body, sat in the car and proceeded to have a small packed lunch of beef and vegetable soup in a thermos accompanied by a salad of oriental noodles that she had prepared just for the occasion.

That afternoon at around five, Smith proceeded through the forest clearing which ironically enough again had been the remnants of a once beautiful tropical rainforest which had been home to a variety of exotic species of animals, such as the _tarsier _; the Philippines only native lemur monkey species and the great Philippine eagle. They were rare species that nowadays could very often be difficult to spot. Years of deforestation due to logging had much sure of that.

It was almost like being back in basic training with the Marines to a certain degree; skulking through the jungle without being detected. Smith was mindfully cautious of the fact that there might be opposition around and just in a case had her weapon within clear reach of her at all times as well as a small yet deadly combat knife for an altogether more stealthier approach.

One the first things they teach you in an elite combat force is that even though you might have a gun it should only be used ideally as a last line of defence as shooting in a recon capacity is not always a good thing.

After about a quarter of a klick as McCarthy had said, Smith came to an altogether out-of-place structure that seemed to impose itself on the forest clearing: it was indeed the perimeter fence to the Facility. She kneeled down quietly beside it.

As she peered through the wire mesh, Smith had at last discovered what she had came here to see; a gargantuan imposition of concrete and steel that served as a perpetual reminder of man's willingness to compromise nature to suit his desires. The very sight of it irked her and sent an uneasy chill down her spine, and in an instant, she pictured Chernobyl and five-mile island and the damage they wrought, and wondered was it really worth the danger money she was getting.

Smith pressed the binoculars to her eyes and saw a container truck parked outside. It had belonged to Radionica, and having checked the map McCarthy had given her she contended that that must have been the part of the complex, which housed the reprocessing plant. As she looked around the perimeter she saw that indeed there was a heavy presence of armed men in white radiation suits brandishing FN P90 bullpup sub-machine guns; the standard issue weapons for all Marathon personnel.

These weapons had the accuracy of an assault rifle with the added refinement of having an ability to fire 900 rounds a minute. Marathon contractors in Iraq used them quite liberally and often indiscriminately to deadly effect and smith didn't fancy being on the receiving end of one of them, preferring instead to do the killing. Yet there was part of her who wished she had took McCarthy's advice and wondered if a puny P230 would stand up against the enemy in a firefight.

All she really cared about was getting those photos and getting out of dodge as fast as her legs could carry her, and she hoped that her new allies would have the same mentality and not do anything stupid.

It was around eight in the evening and Smith had formulated the plan of action in her mind. She knew every detail of how the operation was going to go down. Firstly, she was going to split the group into two man teams; alpha team to stake out the area where the Caesium extraction process had been taking place and take photos so the MI6 and CIA experts could see if the process match Hamid's original designs. And beta team, to raid the office and break into the computer to get details of shipping records to find out where the stuff was actually going.

With those two things in the possession of Allied intelligence, it would be enough to launch an investigation. Everyone from Pantheon, Marathon and SITCO would get it right in the behind. The fallout would have huge repercussions along much of the military-industrial complex's varied corporate arms. Governments would reign in the elites and terror groups would no longer to get steady supplies of arms and would be financially starved into submission.

Smith turned the possible fallout over in her mind; why would the service try and bite off the very hand that feeds them when the government had become increasingly dependant on the private sector. Whatever the reasons, M wasn't exactly forthcoming and Smith didn't like knowing half the story.

Smith cocked to attention the instant she heard a rustle amidst the trees and poised with her handgun in hand, silencer on. She stealthily crept forward through the trees for about 50 yards in order to investigate. All of a sudden she could hear the patter of footsteps at her left flank and instantly swivelled around, her gun arm ready for action. And there in front of her was figure of a man in black recon gear who was accompanied soon after by two more bodies each brandishing MP7 sub-machine guns.

"Hold your fire 005." McCarthy said "I fancy not ending up in a body bag tonight whatever about you"

Smith relaxed her defensive poise with a sense of relief.

"Phew, you guys are lucky," She said "we really got to arrange a less tense meeting scenario in future and preferably one that doesn't involve guns"

"Don't worry Susan we know when to use them and when not to. The yanks aren't all about going into a country and shooting up the place you know; despite what the media would have you believe. May I introduce you to my friends, this is Harden and this is Barrios."

Smith shook hands with the pair. Harden appeal to her instantly, he was warm and charming and had scruffy blonde hair and boyish good looks. Barrios on the other hand, who was a slightly greying man in his late forties and was still reasonably fit. He didn't warm to Smith as much and didn't say much. Anything he did say he responded stoically. It was almost as if he was their just for the money and didn't care about the mission or if it went sideways; just as long as he got out alive and was in one piece to collect his cheque.

"Right, I suppose we'd best get this over and done with." McCarthy said.

"sounds like a good idea" Smith replied. "let me get the plans and we can discuss how to proceed."

Smith unfolded the map of the interior of the plant and the team huddled around it in a circle.

"so here's how I think this should go down," Smith said. "we split into two man teams; Alpha team should take the actual refinery, get pictures of the process. Now according to our scientists the process involves chemical separation of the radioactive Caesium element by something called an ion exchange column. Apparently the waste is dissolved and the column separates the Caesium from the unwanted uranium and stuff. It's then washed out and collected and treated with Hydrochloric Acid to turn it into Caesium chloride. Hydrogen cyanide is the by-product so I got some gas masks in the boot. So basically all we need are pictures of anything that can be related to the designs Ali abd-al Hamid was working on."

"And beta team?" Harden interjected.

"Beta gets to go into the office and hack the computer," Smith said. "According the IAEA rules companies have to legally keep track of all reprocessed nuclear products for recording purposes. If we can pin Marathon and their cronies to wall with evidence that they're selling nuclear material to Iran we've got 'em by the balls. I'm the only one who has technology that can hack their computers so the question is who wants to join me in the office and who wants to cover the plant?"

"Christ I don't fancy being close to chemicals and radioactive stuff" Harden replied " but if it has to be done, I'll go with anything you say boss." He said, turning to McCarthy.

"I hear you buddy, but I won't do anything without a general consensus of the team; how about you Barrios."

"Im cool either way." He replied. At this moment Smith began to sense something strange about Barrios that she didn't like. He didn't really engage or was on the same level as the rest of the team. It was almost as if he didn't care or as if the danger didn't faze him, as if he knew something that Smith and the rest of them didn't. Anyway it was too late to have suspicions now. All that mattered was getting the job done as quickly as possible.

"Ok," McCarthy affirmed, "if you're cool with that then yourself and Harden can be team Alpha; myself and Smith can stake out the office: agreed."

"Sure thing boss" Harden replied.

Smith drew the attention of the four-man team to plans in front of her. "Right well now that we've got that out of the way, here's what I've come up with". She said. She pointed her finger to the area of the drawings that housed the main reprocessing area and began to deliberate.

"According to this there is only when real way into the factory floor with out being detected and that's through here." She said, pointing to a lone skylight on the southern end of the building closest to the office. "you'll have to get onto the roof somehow and abseil down onto the inside. Of course you'll have to be on the look out for opposition but I'm sure being pros you can handle it."

"So what is the opposition like out there" Harden asked.

"There's a couple of guys on the roof with bullpups and some guys stationed mainly around the northern end of the plant where the trucks come in. there's also a guy or two patrolling the perimeter, but don't worry I've watched their rotations so you should be familiar with them by the time we commence operations."

"What time do you want us to kick off?" Barrios asked.

"when it's dark 22:30 hours preferably" Smith said.

"And what about us; how are we going to get access to the office?" McCarthy asked.

"well having examined the kind of opposition were facing it wouldn't be wise to go in the front. So for that reason I've identified one the air conditioning vents, which should be big enough to accommodate us both, and lead directly overhead the office area. A bit cliché I know but if it does the job to hell with it."

"Right guys any further questions?" McCarthy asked. The rest of the team nodded a negative gesture.

"Ok we hit the place at 22:30 hours. Harden I'll get on to the radio to check in with you as soon as we're done got it."

"Sure thing boss" Harden affirmed.

"Alright gentlemen good luck and let's hope we don't have to get into any altercations" Smith said, and put away the plans in her jacket pocket.

That evening at around close to the time of insertion, Smith and McCarthy gazed through the wire mesh at concrete monolith of danger that await their presence, taking turns with sharing Smith's binoculars. It was her first time in a paramilitary operation since Iraq and it charged every nerve in her body.

It was decided that evening that Smith's team (Beta) would go first so that should take the edge off of her performance jitters, expect in this performance, success was measured by how well the actors could avoid the spotlight. This factor was very much self- evident by the deadly streams of searchlights scanning the courtyard area.

Smith waited for a gap in the searchlights rotation to provide a corridor of darkness by which the team could creep onto the courtyard and onto the building and having spent a period of time studying them, she cut an opening through the perimeter fence. One by one the team entered through, observing carefully the rotations of the guards and searchlights before making their moves. The view of the plant from the outside of the fence was from an elevated position so they quickly had to scurry down a grass slope to get onto the courtyard which took a little more time so timing was of the essence.

All four member made it the east wall of the facility, now all that was left to do was to climb one of the fire escape ladders to the roof before the guard patrolling the perimeter doubled back as well as avoiding the searchlight trained upon the wall; not an easy task by any means especially carrying weapons. All this was timed meticulously and a certain urgency to get to the top faced the team when the guard turned to face their direction. Each member had only a window of a few seconds to get up the ladder , and with the search light drawing closer the team got to the roof just by the skin of their teeth with Smith being first and McCarthy being last.

On roof the team scurried for cover behind the ventilation equipment to avoid the guards on the roof. From there on in the team would resort where possible to using tactical hand signals to communicate given the threat and noise levels of the plant itself. McCarthy stood watch at the edge of the ventilator to observe the rotation of the guards on the roof and when the coast was clear he gestured the universal symbol for "A.O.K" followed by pointing his finger in the direction the skylight that would be team alpha's entrance and egress point. With that they moved of quietly.

Smith and McCarthy quietly navigated their way through the cluttered structures on the roof to the southern end of the building where the offices lay and like she predicted there was an opening that served as a gateway to the A/C vents, and thus access to the offices below from overhead the building.

He helped her remove the cover and the pair crawled inside one by one. Their bodies slowly crawled through the narrow metal caverns in a snake-like motion for a further 200 meters until they came to the vent over head the main reception. Smith, who took the lead, noticed the vent wasn't alarmed or wired in any way and proceeded to open the screws using a novel tool provided courtesy of Q Branch. She pulled off the cover and sent down a black rope down to the ground below. Having seen that the coast was clear she turned to McCarthy and gestured that she was about to descend.

They quietly descend one by one into the darkened office space and with only dim narrow luminance from their torches. Smith got out the plans to the area and gestured towards what appeared to be the head office. If anything that was probably a good place to start and Smith, getting out her magic tool that contained a universal lock pick, inserted it into the keyhole and twiddled it gently. She pressed against it gently using her body weight and it opened. The team crept inside the office and McCarthy stood guard by the door occasionally peering out while Smith skulked around looking for the leads to the computer to plug it in.

McCarthy gestured the universal tactical signal to Smith that it was finally ok to talk." looks like the coast is clear so far anyway" he whispered. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"wouldn't be in this business if I wasn't" Smith replied, as the office desktop PC beamed to life. As she predicted it was password protected, and proceeded to connect the Computer to her Smartphone using a single USB cable she had with her.

"Now all I need to do is use the little decryption app the boys and girls at Q branch have devised for us and ill be able to hack into the computers registry where the passwords is stored."

"then what," McCarthy asked.

"then we sit back and allow it to do it's magic." She uttered.

"Impressive stuff." McCarthy replied. "how do ye think of it all?"

"I know cool stuff isn't it. The technology is nothing new. It's based on the same stuff that police in America use to break in to the hard drives of the computers of suspected paedophiles; we've just taken it up a notch since then. We Brits are an innovative bunch after all."

"Yeah well you me be good but don't forget that we Irish build half of England you know." McCarthy jibed, much to smith's amusement. "How could we forget that?" She responded quietly "Our glorious empire and all that….Aha Eureka I'm in" She said as the Windows 7 desktop appeared in front of her. At last, she had gotten inside. All that was left to do now was to access the desktop remotely in order to download any records (Excel spreadsheets etc) onto her phone.

McCarthy checked his watch with a slight hint of urgency. He contended that Team Alpha should hopefully be checking in soon and was eager to get the ball rolling and out of there ASAP.

"How long will this take" he asked turning to Smith "And do you know exactly what you're looking for"

"Not entirely", Smith replied. "but any documents on this computer, whether they're deleted or not will be downloaded by my phone onto a special cloud drive so my people can view Marathon's little dirty secrets at leisure. It should take a couple of minutes. "

"Ok, the quicker the better" he replied.

Smith got the app working by accessing the windows explorer file manager on the computer using her phone, meaning she could download the entire contents off the hard drive without anyone noticing anything missing. Several minutes past and the download status bar was approximately 30% complete. McCarthy was calm about the whole for the most part and didn't feel pensive or at the very least was extremely good at not showing it. His training dictated that the best chance of success on a mission was having a well-laid plan executed to precision. This wasn't like anything he had trained for in the SEALS and was under the general impression that hanging around a danger zone for too long increased the chances of something going wrong.

"It's almost done?" Smith said as she look at her phone and saw that the download was almost complete".

"Right I'll call in. the guys should have finished by now." He raised a hand to the earpiece on his left ear and depressed the centre of it and talked quietly into the receiver.

"Alpha Team this is dear hunter do you copy."

A blank silence responded back.

"Alpha team do you copy" he said with slightly more urgency. A condescending voice crackled over the earpiece. It was not any member of the team. "Sorry for the delay Master Chief ( McCarthy shuddering at the mention of his US Navy SEAL rank) but I'm afraid your boys cant come to the phone right now, although I will offer you and your accomplice a free word of advice: _Run._"

"We've been compromised, pack up her you're stuff and lets get outta here now." He said to his female MI6 accomplice who quickly sprung to action with her deadly little popgun at the ready. McCarthy peered out through the glass of the office at a small group of Marathon goons that had made their way through the front reception area and were slowly enveloping the space in order to box them in. It was clear that there was no alternative but to go through them and surrender was not a viable option.

"Come out with your hands up" A Filipino voice rang through the office. McCarthy turned back to Smith and gestured the strength of the opposition facing them quietly, using hand signals.

When the timing was right, he hurled a smoke grenade out on to the office floor in the hope of buying a window of a few seconds for him and Smith to get out. For an Elite soldier a few seconds was a lot and could mean the difference between success and failure; life and death.

As the smoke grew and enveloped the room that had been dimly lit up the guards' torches Smith and McCarthy made their way out the door of the office. Smith noticed a movement at 10 O Clock on McCarthy's left flank and signalled to him. The smoke was beginning to dissipate and by now, the opposition should be able to see the two intruders. With that, McCarthy turned and fired, dropping the figure to the ground that led to other guards' returning a hail of fire.

The pair dropped to the ground behind some desks, exchanging fire with the oncoming onslaught of Marathon mercenaries. Smith decisively and accurately dropped one or two with her P230 but the strength of their numbers proved a bit too much to handling. She signalled McCarthy to cover her so she could get out the front door. Protecting the information was paramount above all else and as McCarthy counted down from three, Smith, with the attentiveness of an Olympic athlete, waited to make her dash for the door. Three, Two, One, Go, as fast as her legs could carry she bolted for the exit while McCarthy returned a heavy volume of fire at the enemy from his MP7 that cut through the air with the sound a jackhammer.

He managed to cut down some of them but in the process caught a stray bullet in the leg; the searing kiss of which caused him to yelp out in pain. Smith turned back and tried to help him. "Go; Go now, get outta here, run!" he shouted and seeing the bigger picture, she obeyed. She scanned the courtyard to make sure it was all clear and seeing that it was, she attempted to make for the perimeter, when a voice from her left called her to halt.

Just as she was about to turn round to empty a round into the man, a sudden stab of pain enter her body from the side. It was as though someone had shot a dart or something into her. This was immediately follow by an overwhelming surge of 20000 volts of electricity which almost felt like being hit a train or a moving vehicle, the power of which sent her body crashing instantly and submissively to the ground. She had just been hit by a high-voltage Tazer; a weapon powerful enough to disable a large animal, and as she lay on the ground concussed, her body went into involuntary spasm for just a few moments. It took a few minutes for her to come to, but by then it was too late, and could already feel the stab of a hypodermic needle penetrate her left arm. This was finally it; the game was up for her. She could feel it. Any thoughts about life or death from now on would be fruitless. Too frightened to think, and too little time to be frightened she simply subdued to her ever-heavy eyes and collapsed into unconsciousness.

The man with the syringe got up from his knees; it was Dominguez. He gestured across the now illuminated courtyard with a wave of his arm and beckoned over what looked to be a Philippine Red Cross ambulance that backed up in the courtyard to where Smith's body lay. Group of men dressed in what appeared to be paramedics uniforms got out and loaded Smith's limp, unconscious body onto a stretcher in the back.

Dominguez discarded the syringe and smiled as the ambulance pulled away. There were two men standing there with him. One was an almost horrified Victor Mayhew who remained silent throughout but clearly perturbed by the whole incident. On the other hand, the man beside him didn't show any signs of remorse and donned an expression of glee on his face as though he had enjoyed every minute of what had unfolded. He drew a Walkie Talkie up to his mouth and talked into it with the same condescending nasal American accent that had exposed Smith and McCarthy.

"Mr. Barrios, it's Wolchik you can come out now." He said with a sense of amused pleasure.

Barrios emerged from the building, gun carelessly strewn over his shoulder and approached the company of men.

"glad to be service ." He said, shaking hands with his new boss.

"I can see that holding on to you since Venezuela was a wise decision Barrios." He replied.

"Anything to please a regular client Mr Wolchik. just as long as the money keeps coming in, and it seems that you guys pay better."

"That's right Barrios." Wolchik replied "I take you dealt with McCarthy accordingly?"

"Right between the eyes, just as you requested sir."

"Good, then I believe that concludes our business here. See you on the other side of the pacific in a couple of day's time. Oakland San Francisco; don't be late."

"Affirmative." Barrios replied, and disappeared into one of the black four-wheel drives on the other side of the yard.

Dominguez, who had confiscated Smith's weapon, handed it to Wolchik who took it in the palm of his hand and weighed it as though he was trying to get a feel for it. He gave one disapproving glance at Mayhew and strutted around, still weighing the captured pistol in his hand.

Wolchik was a man in his late forties. His face appeared to be aged but it was a graceful ageing and apart from his long pointed nose, his facial feature were soft and his hair had an almost Aryan blondeness to it, and as Anna Amore had described he was handsome in a sort of a rugged white Anglo-Saxon protestant American way. His handsomeness displayed a ruthlessness, a sort of a cruelty to his demeanour and one could get the impression by the way he acted and talked that he was capable of inflicting great pain on those who crossed him or made him angry. Victor Mayhew was beginning to feel that wrath directed towards him as Wolchik paced around him.

"So Victor, is that the British girl you hired to work on the Mangurun case?"

"Yes Mr. Wolchik." Mayhew answered in a fearful manner.

"I see," Wolchik replied. "Suzanne Sykes, or should I say Susan Smith of the British Secret Service."

Mayhew felt a chill go down his spine at Wolchik's disdain.

"I didn't know who she was sir, honest to God?"

"Ah I see, and yet you neglected to tell me when she was reported by Reese for going through one our computers didn't you."

"We needed her for the Mangurun case sir. She had come up with the whole strategy. I assumed…."

"Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups, isn't it Victor?" Wolchik exclaimed. He calmed down and went back to his pacing, again weighing the pistol in his hand. Dominguez just stood their and smiled.

"You could never resist the sight of a pretty body could you Victor." At this stage, Mayhew gulped in fear at every word his boss had to say and answered; "No Mr. Wolchik, Sorry Mr Wolchik. I made a mistake I promise you it won't happen again."

"That's alright Victor, I completely understand. After all, it's not your fault; you're weak, especially when it comes to pretty girls. Tell me Victor, have you ever heard of a British quiz show host by the name of Anne Robinson."

"No Mr. Wolchik" Victor whimpered

"Ah, Anyway you should check her out because do you know what her famous catch phrase is Victor?"

"No Sir"

"She says 'You are the weakest link, Goodbye" and with that raised Smith gun and depressed the trigger, emptying a single shot into Mayhew's chest. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes much to the amusement of Dominguez.

"Waste of space." He said "One less overhead to worry about eh Raphael."

"Affirmative sir,"

"Have someone clean up that mess." Wolchik said.

"What about the Brit sir?"

"I have my own plans for her. She could prove useful to us. In the meantime get on to Guy Haines. Make him work for his immunity." Wolchik turned his head authoritatively "Find out as much as you can about her. Do it cleanly."

Dominguez nodded wilfully and with almost hedonistic delight replied

"Will do sir. Will do."


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

_A Deal with the Devil_

Amidst the haze of blurry, groggy eyesight, Susan Smith awoke, and with no sense of time or concept of place, had seen two men in conspiratorial conversation with one another. She was too sedated to make anything or anyone out at first. She had been drugged up on Amobarbital and was out for the count for hours although it seemingly felt like minutes had elapsed since the show down at the plant.

It was almost like waking up from an intense dream. The setting was completely unfamiliar and like it was arising from any general anaesthetic, it can take several hours to get ones bearings. She could just about make out that the place was probably a basement of some kind due to the stone brickwork and exposed cobweb ridden wooden rafters. The room reeked of paraffin and had been dimly lit by a single naked 40-watt bulb that hung from the ceiling. The occasional flicker of moth's wings could be seen around it as well as the minute specks of flies drawn towards the light.

The men began to approach her and all she could feel was the tightness of the cords strapping her into the chair and a heightened sense of fear. For all she knew they could be capable of anything. She was too weak and powerless to resist or to even try to break free.

" She's not fully out of it yet." said one of the voices. "Let's wait a while." The other man said. "Mr. Wolchik will be here in a couple of hours. By then she should have fully recovered." At that moment the initial wave of fear had passed. They clearly didn't have a motive to kill her or do invasive things to her body; at least not yet, and that quietly relieved her for the time being. Though grateful to be alive, she didn't have the energy to speak and soon after became heavy-eyed, drifting back into another deep sleep.

Several hours later Smith reawakened, this time feeling refreshed. She didn't feel groggy anymore and her energy was fully restored. She gave a brief glance around the room to take in her surroundings. The two men whom she had awoken to earlier took up position at either side of her armed with two IMI Desert Eagles strapped neatly into holsters underneath their arms. One of them she instantly recognised as Barrios; the man who betrayed her team in Buluan. The other man with the eye patch she didn't recognise.

Before she could respond to them, she could hear a pattering of feet slowly trundling down the steps to the basement. They belonged to Michael Wolchik who emerged at the bottom of the stairs, resplendently dressed in a grey business suit.

"Good evening 005, Welcome to the United States. That is who you are, aren't you, Susan Smith 005, special operations officer for the British Secret Intelligence Service, _Nespar_? I never thought I'd get a chance to meet you but here we are. You know what they say; everything's possible if you wish hard enough. "

At last, the decisive moment had arrived. However, she wasn't going to make it easy for him and didn't come this far to bow to his whim. He obviously brought her to this place for a reason, and Smith was going to have a little fun to find out what that reason was and buy time if possible.

"I'm flattered, but I have no idea what your talking about mate" she replied smugly. "Besides my mum told me never to talk to strangers; especially those who have me tied up in a basement in God knows where. By the way where is here and who the hell are you?"

"My apologies Ms. Smith, Michael Wolchik's the name, CEO of Marathon Inc, glad to finally make to acquaintance of the woman who single handed solved the Mangurun case for us. Oh, by the way welcome to San Francisco, Oakland to be exact. You know there's a terrible drug problem in this neighbourhood; you see our company rents out specific houses in the area, like this one, to the ATF and local law enforcement for stakeouts. So as you can see we're well connected so I guess that means there's no use in hiding any longer 'Lieutenant' now is there?"

With no other hand to play Smith decided to come clean.

"Alright Wolchik, you win," she said "but just because you can get rid of me doesn't mean my people won't get you, we always do. You can't hide the deaths of three operatives forever, even in deniable operations. It's only a matter of time before we're avenged."

"Relax Ms Smith; it wasn't that bad working for us was it? Besides, I only brought you here to find out more about you. I've always wanted to meet you since Mayhew talked so much about you. Pity it wasn't under different circumstances."

"Not a good way to get a girls attention. Alright, want do you want from me?" Smith asked

"The question is Ms. Smith what do you want from me. Your people obviously sent you to hurt me or get dirt on me in some way, so I transported you here on my private plane from the Philippines. The official story we sold to customs is that you were one of my employees who caught a sever bout of tsetse fever from a mosquito and needed to be transported back home under sedation. It was a bit of a concoction I know, but I had to find out more about you and whether or not you posed a threat to me."

"This company of yours seems to have many tentacles Mr Wolchik; too many perhaps. The powers that be are justifiably concerned." Smith replied.

"Because they hate competition ain't that right boys."

The two minions laughed.

"Or simply because you may in league with our enemies Mr Wolchik." Smith replied. "I saw the evidence: it adds to some pretty damning stuff that if it got out, would be tough to bounce back from. You and your Fortune 500 friends would get right in the arse. So yes, I suppose it is useful to know the competition in order to beat it or to control it, _Mr Wolchik._"

Wolchik's charming exterior seemed to be punctured in that instant. His mood became more irate.

"Ah yeah, which is why I'll never allow you or your people to get that close to me ever again" he exclaimed. "You see I bet you didn't think that that naïve little dimwit Michael Reese wouldn't come running to me after you showed off your tits to him in order to get into his computer. Yeah, bet you didn't think of that huh?"

Wolchik pulled up a chair, dragging its back legs across the floor, which made an irritating squeal. He sat down in front of Smith, crossed his legs casually, and smiled wryly as he gazed upon her. To Smith, those same brown eyes were the kind that lacked any sort of empathy. It was as though they harboured a deep hatred and that the person behind them was capable of great malice, despite his look being that of a charming western business executive approaching mid-life. His demeanour, the way he carried himself made Smith think this man had the extrovertive veneer of a psychopath.

It wasn't easy find out about you, you know "Lieutenant", or is it Leftenant? Ha I forgot, that's the term you limeys use isn't it? Kinda faggety don't you think"

"Whatever floats your boat Sunshine?" Smith replied snidely

"Well you've certainly got my attention honey that's for sure. I knew after the way we handled Ali Abd-al Hamid you're people would eventually add two and two and come after us, but you know we have connections too. And I'm willing to bet you're the so called International Atomic Energy Agency lady who came to see him that day, correct?"

"Mmm let's say you should've covered you're arses a little bit better?'

Wolchik pointed the finger and waved it, laughing.

"That's rich coming from a queer" He jibed. "But then again all you Brits are sexually immoral godless sodomites; in a round about way of course."

Smith rolled her eyes up to heaven at his ignorance but didn't respond. It was best not to anger or engage too much with him.

"But I suppose your right," he continued. "it is hard to find good help these days. We should have thought twice about hiring Filipe Herrera."

"You can't buy integrity Mr. Wolchik," Smith said. "Maybe you Americans should learn from that."

"Oh you would know all about that wouldn't you?" Wolchik replied sarcastically "Being a bulldog imperialist Brit, _hah_!"

He paused briefly as he arose from his seat and carrying his chair. He walked over towards her and placed the chair with the backrest facing out just a few inches from where she was sitting. He gazed upon her gently for a moment and outstretched his arm in order to stroke her face with the back of his hand. She gently and disgustedly recoiled. Then he grabbed her chin as if to make her face him.

"You're incredibly pretty for damaged goods aren't you?" He got up from his chair and walked away from her.

"I know all about you, Ms Smith." He said as he paced the floor. "How you got into the business. It's _disgusting,_ that's what it is, two fags getting it on. Well that's what you get for allowing women into the military. No wonder you Brits lost everything you had, it was because you were weak, and decadent, just like you are today. It's Godlessness, plain and simple. "

"Perhaps", Smith replied, in manner that masked her disgust "but at least we don't go around shooting everyone like a bunch of trigger happy inbred rednecks in order to win hearts and minds. That's somewhat how we held on to our empire for 500 years; we tend to be a little more diplomatic as to whom we kill and how we do it. "

"Ha ha Bullshit; I bet you you'd like to have a go at me Ms. Smith if you had the chance wouldn't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind." Smith replied. "But it's kinda hard when you're strapped to a chair in a dark basement and guys with guns are standing over you now isn't it."

Smith turned her head towards Barrios and said. "I certainly wouldn't mind having a go at this guy for killing McCarthy and Harden, get a thing going you know, I mean why stop when you're having fun eh?"

Barrios responded by angrily pulling out his Desert Eagle and pressing the muzzle into her neck as he tugged her ponytail down.

"The feelings mutual bitch but not if I get there first eh."

Wolchik intervened. "Guys, guys can't we all be friends after all we're all in the same game and there's no I in team is there, that won't be necessary now will it Mr. Barrios."

Barrios relaxed the gun upon Wolchik's command.

"Look the fact is Lieutenant I've brought you here to offer you a job, to make a deal that is in both our interests that's all."

He gestured at Barrios to release his hold on her, with that Smith responded abruptly.

"Yeah well you can stuff your job, _Mr. Wolchik, _because I didn't really like working for your company in the first place; a bunch of sexist misogynist arseholes is what your people were."

Wolchik laughed "Don't worry Lieutenant, those pencil pushers in the offices are some of my less useful people but unfortunately a necessary evil. No, the job I'm offering is more to your talents. I can tell you're a warrior not an office temp. You have that look about you, the look of experience. I sized you up the moment I saw you."

"I'm sorry but you got the wrong impression about me Wolchik. I'm not a gun for hire and I certainly wouldn't hire myself out to a bottom feeding lowlife like you. Now would you please just let me go, or kill me, or do whatever you have to do, because the answer is and always will remain no."

Wolchik paused and grinned at her lasciviously. "I don't believe I've introduced you to my other associate Mr. Dominguez," he said.

Susan glanced up at him from her seat. "No I don't believe you have. Certainly better looking then old Barrios over here, question is does he have the easy touch. " She replied. Wolchik gave an amused look and walked over to a small table in the right hand corner of the room.

On it laid a pack of sterile pre-injection swabs and a device that looked like a syringe, the kind used for micro chipping dogs. Smith began to feel a lump in her throat. In her worst nightmares, she could only imagine what was going to happen to her next. Wolchik picked up the syringe, again weighing it callously in his hand it in order to get a feel it, enjoying the moment, just as he had done before killing Victor Mayhew.

"Mr Dominguez is a man of few words, used to work at Camp X ray, you know, the place which held all the hajjis in Guantanamo bay. He was with the real Marines and not pansy ass British ones. Lost the eye in Tora Bora and was kinda pissed off with them ever since. The perfect choice for my organisation, don't you think?"

"Kindred spirits," Smith said jokingly.

"Of a kind: He has a knack for, how do you say, persuading people."

"Yeah I kinda gathered that alright," Smith said

"I'm looking forward to working on you ma'am, though at first it may be painful" Dominguez said.

She snorted back a sarcastic reply "Everyone has their jollies I suppose; pity, we could have been good together".

Wolchik intervened. "Oh don't worry Miss Smith. By the time we're finished with you we'll all be bosom buddies, am I right Barrios."

"That's right boss."

Wolchik handed the syringe to Dominguez who stood behind her. A chill of fear went down Susan's spine as he pulled up her ponytail, gave the back or neck a quick swab and plunged the syringe into the area with considerable brutishness. Smith's lips receded to reveal her pearly white teeth in a short grimace of pain. Dominguez let go of her ponytail throwing back the hair carelessly.

Smith snapped an angry response at him. "Hey watch it mate. You'll give me bloody split-ends yeah." The other two men laughed.

"Don't know what you're laughing at. For us girls that's kind of a big deal you know." Smith said, in an attempt to keep up a humorous veneer.

"Oh I think that's the least of your problems Ms. Smith." Wolchik said snidely "you see you've just been fitted with a micro-explosive implant. Have you ever heard of them?"

Smith knew what exactly what these devices were, tiny explosive devices containing deadly high explosives such as HMX mixed with Tungsten metal. They could be placed in the neck in order to create localised shrapnel wound large enough to rupture a major artery or damage the _medulla oblongata;_ the brains vital centre for controlling unconscious functions such as breathing, leading ultimately to instant death. The stuff of science fiction and action movies was now a terrifying reality that had unfortunately become part of hers.

"Well now, that's much better 005 now isn't it? You're much less of a threat to me now. Quite a coercive little device don't you agree. To think that something as small as the tip of a ballpoint pen could have the power of over life and death. It's amazing what nanotechnology circuits can do nowadays, the fact all I have to do to end your life is just one push of a button, and if you don't play ball, well….." he swiped a single index finger across his neck amusedly.

"You're a sick bastard Wolchik. Do you know that?"

"Yeah maybe, honey, but there's method to my madness. You see I'm on a sort of a mission: a crusade so to speak to destroy the Muslims and everything they stand for. You see I grew up in a screwed up situation were we knew nothing else. We were taught that the Anglo-Saxon race were the descendents of the twelve tribes of Israel. We were taught to turn away from anything or anyone who didn't share our beliefs and mistrust all other religions but that of the Lord Jesus Christ."

Wolchik's mood suddenly changed. He donned an expression of emotional pain on his face as he recalled his adolescence.

"Then my mother left my father and whored herself out to some rag head and then stood by while he was molesting my little sister! So, I took a kitchen knife and I killed him. I never thought I had it in me. I was fifteen at the time and ever since that day I knew, I had a great destiny. Sure, I had to go through some jail time, ran some crystal meth for some lowlifes in Austin Texas after I got out. It wasn't even about the drugs; I never took drugs in my life. It was the thrill, you know. I got a huge thrill out of breaking the law.

Then I got caught joyriding, Judge gave me the option of jail time or the military. Spent a stent in the Army Rangers doing Uncle Sam's dirty work in Granada and Somalia, but something was holding me back. I knew that I had to do it on my own, so when my Uncle Herb gave me his fortune in his will, I set up Marathon. I was good at track and field in Kentucky where I was born. Always tried to keep myself fit and pure so the name kind of stuck, it was a good choice. Therefore, you see it's important that everyone around me be on the same team. You do understand Ms. Smith?"

"Touching story," Smith said "but I'm not your shrink, or your employee. So your going to have to just go ahead and just detonate that little device because I'll never bow to you, now will you please get on with it or else let me go."

"Come off it Smith, you really don't want to die anymore than anybody else. However, unless you do everything I say you'll never know the truth of who we are, now will you? So whether you like it or not your in it 'til the end. So; why not play along"

Wolchik had a point. He had ultimate power over life and death. To refuse him would be fruitless, and she would ultimately have died for nothing and there is nothing worse than that.

"Depends, who's we?" Smith asked.

"Ha ha, not a chance." Wolchik replied "And just as an added inducement to make sure you're on the same team we've prepared a little surprise for you."

He gestured at Barrios to loosen the cords that held her to the chair and free her. He did so with caution, while his partner had his Desert Eagle at the ready, waiting for any funny business.

She rose slowly from her seat, wise not to make any sudden moves yet, as Dominguez returned his weapon to his holster, poised for action with vigilant hand over the grip.

"So what's this surprise you have for me?" She asked.

Wolchik had with him a small laptop. He opened it up front of him, logged onto the internet and went on YouTube, accessing a news channel he had bookmarked. He found the video he was looking for. It was a CNN news bulletin read by an attractive blonde American newscaster with hint of masculinity in her voice. He showed it to Smith who watched attentively: the report went as follows.

_"Filipino national police launched an investigation into the death of American national Anna Amore, an executive with global private defence contractor Marathon Inc who was brutally murdered in her room at the Waterfront Insular Hotel in Davao City two nights ago. Police are eager to speak to this woman in the inset, who has been identified as Suzanne Sykes, a British National who is seen here on the hotel CCTV exiting the apartment of the deceased. Source indicate that Ms. Sykes was an employee of the firm and as of yet there are unconfirmed reports that Ms. Sykes may be involved with M16, the British secret intelligence service. The Marathon Corporation has been no stranger to controversy in the world press and is under investigation by the Senate for breaches of protocol in Iraq. We will have more on this story as it arises. _

At that moment, Susan might have just as well been shot through the stomach. It was a devastating blow to her. She lost Anna and the service were exposed. She couldn't go back to M now that she was compromised. she was clearly in deep water and the power of life and death residing ultimately with her captors.

"I thought you might be interested to see that." Wolchik said amusedly. "Hajji Bitch broke my heart. I always figure she was an all girl hussy. Still it was painless; according to Dominguez anyway. She may have even enjoyed it before she died."

A well of intense anger built up inside of her and she could no longer contain her feelings. She let out a yell, whilst simultaneously delivering a swiftly timed right elbow to Dominguez' nose, in a concussive blow that instantly dropped him to the ground. Barrios tried to reach for his gun but received a thunderous sidekick to the chest that propelled his body against the wall. It all happened in one fluid, concerted motion. She picked up Dominguez' weapon and shot a gaping hole in Barrios chest as he tried to recover.

Smith then pounced on Wolchik like a cheetah successfully claiming it's prey, forcing him to ground and vengefully beating the Desert eagle across his face. A spout of blood projected from his mouth as he laughed; he didn't care. The whole sequence took about less than six seconds and Wolchik, interestingly enough didn't resist at all, making only a flimsy attempt at self-defence. It was as though a pet Labrador had jumped up on him excited to see him. He strangely took pleasure from the whole fiasco, not responding in the way you would expect from an elite soldier.

"you won't laugh when I put a fucking bullet through your skull will you, you sick bastard!" Smith exclaimed, her anger only encouraging him further.

"Ooh I knew we had ourselves a fighter." He replied teasingly "but you seem to forget that I'm the only one who knows how to disarm that little time bomb in you neck. So kill me; I welcome it, but it only means that your nothing life will have done what it says on the tin and amount to nothing anyway, and your people are going to be left carrying the can. So, what's it going to be 005? Stash the cash or play on?"

Utterly defeated by the cruel logic of the whole situation, she donned a sullen expression and relaxed her gun arm in capitulation. "Now get off me" he affirmed, "I don't want catch your gayness."

"it's bisexual you bastard." She said through sullen, subdued eyes.

"whatever, don't matter damn all to me. Now here's what you're going to do for me." He said, reaching into pocket where he produced Smith's Smartphone.

"I hope you don't mind but we did a little reorganising in order to get rid of anything harmful to us."

He handed it to her. "Open up the Sky drive." He said, she complied and opened up the only file that was named 'Job For Little Miss Churchill' and there to her horror the face of her target, stared back at her, it was her former lover Alan Landers whom she had hooked up with prior to Iraq. Her heart sank and she burst uncontrollably into tears.

"That's the guy we want deep-sixed; his name is Landers. I believe you know him. I told you we had connections."

"Why, Why me? What has he done?" Smith muttered through a tearful, sorrowful face.

"He has damaging information on our organisation. Unfortunately our country is currently being overrun by a bunch of weak liberal assholes that want to pave the way for the next puppet in the white house so we have to bear the brunt of their bullshit holier-than-thou attitude, temporarily of course. The CIA and FBI have been trying to get dirt on us for months. They store all information on us on a separate cloud drive codenamed Damocles. As a counter terrorist agent for the feds Landers has access to it and that's why I want you, because you two have a history and you swing both ways, something I don't want to know about. "

"Just what do you want me to do?" Smith asked sullenly.

"Use your imagination, get him back to his apartment kill him and access his computer. Damocles can only be accessed from an encrypted computer and he has one at home. After you're done with him download the contents of the drive. Sex of course is optional, after all you're a pretty girl but frankly I don't care how you do it, just get me those files. I'll give all the details and passwords afterwards. Inside also is the email address to send it to."

"Just wait a minute." Smith said assertively "what's to stop you of reneging on your side of the bargain; No, that won't wash Wolchik! You'll have to do better."

"Alright, 'Lieutenant' I suppose I can't fault your negotiation skills. Ok, I'll give you my number. Download the stuff onto a memory stick and we'll arrange to meet. Then and only then will you be allowed to live: and of course as added bonus we'll even make the story in the press go away. Oh and did I also mention we have a time limit as to how soon we want the stuff. With that in mind we programmed the implant to go off in 24 hours, starting… Now."

Wolchik pulled a small device out of his pocket that looked to be a silver plated stopwatch. There were two buttons on it; a red one in the centre and a silver one to right of it. He depressed the silver button and the numbers on the digital display embedded on the clock face of the device began to flicker.

"Well Ms. Smith I'd imagine you'd best get going if you are to beat that clock." Wolchik said, his tone lacking any empathy.

"how the hell am I going accomplish all this in just 24 hours?" Smith exclaimed.

"Don't worry Smith we've made it easy for you. All you have to do is observe his routine. He works in the federal building on 7th street. Watch him for a couple of hours and take it from there."

"why are you doing this to me?" Smith muttered.

"because you can do this Smith, I know you can. you're a _killer_; this is what you were born for. Look all the details of the mission are on your phone. It's very simple. Why should this job be any different from anything you've ever done before, you are licensed to kill after all and if it's any consolation you'll be fighting a common enemy."

"Bastard!" she said sullenly through tearful eyes.

"Oh I know you hate me now but sooner or later you'll thank me" said Wolchik, pretending to be sympathetic. While this was happening, a stunned and battered Dominguez arose from his concussion, bleeding profusely from the nose.

"you bitch. God damn am I going to teach you a lesson!" he said, and as smith was about to raise the hand cannon in her hand to deal with him Wolchik intervened. "Wait!" he said "we're all friends here. Why don't you give that gun to me honey? Remember I own you now. Don't worry I'll let you off with Barrios. I was going to get rid of him anyway. He was too damn greedy. Go on give it here."

Smith, with nowhere to turn tearfully relinquished the weapon. Dominguez then approached her, pulling out what appeared to be her P230 and brandishing as though he was going to shoot her. "By the way here's your pop gun." Wolchik said. Dominguez handed her the weapon and a small black digital stopwatch synchronised to countdown timer on Wolchik's device. "Do it cleanly, yes."

She took the weapon in hand begrudgingly. "That's it girly. Well you'd better get going lieutenant if you want to live. Times-a-wasting."

"may I have more time, please?" she begged.

"No! Now go." He said resolutely. "And by the way, don't contact your people and don't chicken out, we'll know, yeah." With her heart, heavy and her head hung low smith climbed the steps exiting the basement, still reeling with the shock of what Wolchik had put her through. At this moment all she could think of was not thinking too much and hopefully an answer would come that would get her out of the conundrum she was in.

She exited the house and out onto the street where instantly she felt like a cat amongst pigeons. The once beautiful bay area Victorian style houses were now desecrated by graffiti and gang symbols. To top it all off it was it was a cold October's morning. A couple of impoverished African American residents standing warming themselves around a brazier gave her suspicious looks. The only white people these people usually see around this neighbourhood are police and Smith thought to herself, it would be best to keep herself to herself and slip out sideways quietly before the younger more nefarious characters got close to her.

She hadn't experienced this much tension since Iraq and decided to find a quiet alleyway to view the contents of her Smartphone drive that would lead her to her next quarry and her next kill. She closed down the app discreetly and headed off into the wilderness of the city; her heart weakened and weighing heavily upon the task in hand.

Out of Wolchik's cruelty, he had actually been accommodating enough to book her into the Palace hotel, a somewhat swanky belle-epoch-style hotel a few blocks away from the federal building just off of Mission Street. To Smith it didn't feel like luxury at all, more like a sick joke made by Wolchik to either take her mind off the task in hand, or to taunt her.

He had even been meticulous enough to have her luggage from the Philippines delivered especially. He wanted her to have her own clothes so that she could prove to be a tempting lure prepared for the kill. It felt as though she was a goose being fattened up for fois gras, there was no way that he was going to let her live but there was no way out either. With that in mind, she left the hotel for the federal building in order to catch Landers' lunchtime routine.

Like clockwork, Landers went the same restaurant on 8th street just ten minutes away. It was called Bossa Nova, and served a more Brazilian fare. Smith knew this because he had taken her there a few times before consummating their relationship. He was a well-regimented man who liked routine. He was the kind of guy not suited to life in the field but he had a brilliant mind for intelligence and was extremely charming when it came to women.

It was perhaps this fact that Smith was so attracted to him, they slept together only twice before she went off to Iraq. He wanted to take the relationship further. He found her appealing and was beginning to fall in love with her. She knew in her heart she could not commit and took off on her assignment in Basra without calling, hoping to put it behind her, She wasn't the settling down type, especially since where she was going she was expected to use her sensuality to accomplish all number of grisly aims by any means necessary. She thought its was best to remain emotionally detached especially if your going to be a killer.

At around a quarter to two a handsome African American male with angular facial features emerged from the building. He was dressed like a smart lawyer in a glossy blue grey suit and crimson tie but notably no briefcase. It was indeed her target Alan Landers. Smith, standing on the steps of the building pretending not to notice, and peeped out at him from her magazine as he merged into a crowd of people.

Smith, a master of the evasion and surveillance knew all the tricks and was masterful at maintaining her focus on him as he made his way through the crowd. She knew that there wasn't any reason that would cause him to deviate from his routine and as predicted, he arrived at the Bossa Nova fifteen minutes later.

Smith called into a Starbucks just up the street. She ordered a large mocha in a takeaway cup and sat in the seating area outside with an electronic cigarette, puffing on it. It was giving a her hit that was only mildly satisfying but used it in order to remind her nerves to remain calm. The fight or flight mechanism had been fired so many times and nicotine seemed to work for her. She fooled herself into thinking that any source of nicotine apart from regular smokes seemed the healthier choice. It just for the moment that was in it anyway, and then she could nail it on the head: or so she thought.

As per training for such situations she tried to look as natural and unperturbed as possible whilst still keeping a vigil on the door of the restaurant. Normally in such situations there would be a team assigned for surveillance work and it would operate on a relay system where multiple eyes would be on the target from different nooks and crannies around a certain urban area, communicating via radio or other means. Perhaps this was why Wolchik, in his sick yet brilliant mind chose Smith so as not to spook the target. The honey trap was a favourite weapon used by the forces of espionage often to deadly effect and she was undoubtedly quite good at it. Perhaps it was this that sickened her made worse by the fact that the target was a former lover.

Landers emerged from the restaurant an hour later and Smith got up off her seat knowing exactly what to do having planned it out to the last detail. As he was about to turn up in the direction of Market Street she purposefully careered down the street and bumped into him spilling some of her coffee on his suit.

"Geez lady watch it!" he uttered in his African Americanized New York accent.

"I'm terribly sorry sir." She replied "it just that I…."

"Susan? Oh my god Susan hi!"

"Alan hi!" she replied hesitantly.

"Wow what a bit of serendipity meeting you here, How are you!"

He gave her a warm hug, which she partially reciprocated. "yeah I know small world right." She said as she looked over his shoulder uncomfortably.

"So what brings you here to Frisco? Are you on business?"

"Actually I'm on holiday Alan. Didn't expect to bump into you either. Actually I'm kind of In a rush to get somewhere"

"Rushing on a holiday that's not like you Susan. You're usually very composed."

"ah yeah well you know, I wanted to get in on time to see the San Francisco Academy of Sciences museum. They have a new show opening in an hour; the early bird catches the worm and all that."

"I had no idea you were the kinda girl who frequented museums?"

"there's a lot you don't know about me Alan." She replied.

"That is true Susan, that's true. You seem a little tense; is everything alright?"

"Yeah sure" she replied "just hadn't expected to run into you that's all."

"well I'm glad you did because meeting you like this is a revelation. Since we last met in some shape or form you've always been at the back of my mind. In fact you've got me wondering about you ever since. You kinda left in a hurry just when things were getting interesting."

"Alan…"

"It's Ok; I completely understand that Susan. Our business is after all mercurial but I can't help but think that the time we spent together didn't mean anything; it certainly did to me. If nothing else can you at least tell me why you stopped calling, especially when we were so into each other? "

"It's complicated Alan." She replied. She began to pad down his suit with a handkerchief she had with her " I'm terribly sorry I ruined your suit, I know how you like only the best tailoring. If there's anything I can do."

"Don't worry about it." He said in a forgiving tone. "At least now you giving me a reason to change it. Come and have dinner with me this evening, just the two of us."

"I don't know Alan. I …."

"It would be my pleasure; and a good reason for us to catch up on old times. Might even lead to the answers to many questions I've had about you since I met you. And seen as how were not on company time anymore, I thought maybe the two of us could have a proper evening together; no company agendas. Then afterwards I might even show you parts of the city you never expected to see. So, what do you say?"

At that point every fibre of her being wanted to say no, walk away and never hear from or speak to him again. However she valued her life and the lives of those she swore to protect even if it was at a cost to her own life and indeed her own humanity in order to get to the truth. She bundled together every ounce of positive thinking she had left and said; "Well since you put it like that, I suppose the answer is yes: it's a date."

"Excellent, I guess I can pick you up after my work shall we say 8:30. there's a beautiful little restaurant on Geary Boulevard called the Aziza. Michelin star cuisine with a taste of all the unique cultures of San Francisco; I know you'll love it."

"Sure, sounds great." She replied. "I'm staying at the Palace Hotel just off Mission St.

"I know it well, I'll be there. This place we're going to is the best place in town so wear something scintillating, you're going to need it."

"I think I have just the thing in mind." She replied.

" great! Till tonight then." He said, as he kissed her on the cheek and happily departed. Notably she didn't kiss him back, for she had a thing about kissing the men she was about to kill. A kiss carried with it a meaning of love but also superstitiously a meaning of death. She turned away sobbing gently with her hand over her mouth.

This kill was personal; probably the most personal kill she'd ever had to do but what were the alternatives. Since the incident in Madagascar with 007 the service have clamped down on any special operations officers exposed in the line of duty through plausible deniability or worse yet assassination in the most serious cases, anything to protect the truth at all costs. Perhaps this is what kept her in the game: to taste the death of Michael Wolchik if nothing else.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

_A Deadly Taste Of Heaven._

At a little under half past eight, Alan Landers waited with keen anticipation on the steps of the Palace Hotel for the date that would unwittingly be his last. It didn't bother him or occur to him at any moment during his life that one day, like us all, he would die. Therefore, he was, like his date, very much a believer in living in the moment. It was also a beautiful clear autumn's evening, albeit sullied by the presence of a slight biting wind, but that was ok, because to him, a little chilly weather could not suppress his desire to rekindle his relationship with Susan Smith; the woman who would be responsible for his untimely death.

And there, much to his awe, Susan emerged from the front door; a picture of perfection in an elegant red chiffon mini dress and Cashmere overcoat beautifully accessorised with a long Sydney Evan diamond heart bracelet and notably oversized Givenchy handbag, all courtesy of Harrods of London at an equally jaw dropping price.

"My God Susan you look amazing." He said as he kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you Alan you look quite handsome yourself," she replied, almost trying to keep a brave face.

"Thanks, I'll take that as an indication that I've done something right."

She smiled back briefly followed by a slight awkward silence.

"So are you ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah," She replied, and with that Alan hailed a cab on the Street.

The pair arrived at the Aziza at approximately thirty-five minutes later. It was a quaint white building on an equally quaint street corner just off 22nd avenue. Inside it had a typical rustic Moroccan feel. Alan offered to take her coat for her. She relinquished it, he hung it up for her, and then the receptionist guided them to their table. All this time she had her handbag with her, concealed inside was the deadly tool of her end-of-evening's trade. Normally Smith would be a little surer of herself on a date but on the way over just made enough conversation to get by. One of the lessons she learned from the training and indeed from life itself is that the best actors are pretenders and can keep up a smile even though every fibre of them wants to scream in despair, and that's how she felt at that moment in time; the greatest actor that ever lived.

An enthusiastic Alan Landers on the other hand suspected nothing. At least he didn't suspect anything major, and began to summon the waitress to bring over the menus.

As they sat around the beautiful red cedar table; eloquently lit by soft candlelight, the room beamed with the sound of playful Moroccan Arab music as they opened the elegant leather bound menus.

"What looks good to you?" Alan said as Susan perused the menu, seemingly disconnected from the romantic atmosphere.

"I think I might go with fish for tonight" She said. "and you?"

" I think Lamb loin sounds good." He replied.

"then I suppose we're ready to order" she said, and with that Alan called over the waitress, an elegant young Berber woman in her twenties. In her graciously sweet accent, which was largely American but with a hint of North Africa, she asked if the couple were ready to order and dutifully scribbled down their order as dictated.

Susan ordered the squid for starters accompanied by king oyster, radish and ginger, a choice less heavier than it sounded. For entrée she ordered Pacific sturgeon with sea beans, shellfish, potato and a saffron sauce, and, to take her mind off the time bomb placed close to her brain stem, a reminder of Wolchik's power over her; lemon yoghurt mousse with a delectable chocolaty centre.

In contrast, Alan as predicted ordered the lamb loin accompanied by shiitake, cucumber, eggplant and cumin for entrée with lentil soup for starters; all topped off by a desert of passion fruit entremet with homemade ice cream.

"Now all we need to round off this perfect evening are some good wines." He said. "I'm kinda feeling Italian and musical tonight; I think ill go for a bottle of the Roagna; how about you Susan…Susan?"

"Oh apologies, ehm I think I'll go for the Dauvissat Chablis?" She said.

"An excellent choice ma'am." The waitress said. "I'll leave you two dear people in peace?" and with that she disappeared into the kitchen. Susan and Alan engaged in some small talk that was the kind of obvious cliché you'd expect for a date. Yet at the same time cryptic given their respective occupations. She knew that she would not get him to reveal details of his work with Felix Leiter or the FBI, not even to her. She then wondered to herself how she was going to get him back to his apartment and carry out the grisly deed.

With the arrival of the starters, Susan smiled, obviously put on. "Nice décor in this place Alan." She said, "You have class."

"Why else would I bring you here if it wasn't the best?" He replied.

"you certainly know how to push a girl's buttons, tell me do you always seduce women with swanky restaurants."

"Well it depends." He said. "It's not every woman's style. Some like the theatre, or maybe a club or a drink. Every woman has something she likes. It's just a matter of finding out what that is and responding appropriately."

"So you think you're an expert on women huh?" Smith asked.

"I'm not a player-player if that's what you mean. I've had some luck and opportunity that's all. But I'm a little bit puzzled?"

"About what?" Smith asked.

"About the mystery that is Susan Smith?"

"Oh." she replied, cracking a somewhat uncomfortable smile.

"I mean we were having fun weren't we?"

"yes we were." Smith replied.

"then why did you stop communicating all of a sudden."

"Alan you know it's best not to remain attached in our business. Besides they're something I haven't told you that I've been meaning to tell you: I'm bisexual Alan; I like women."

"I know that." He replied. "I've known for quite some time now."

"How?" she asked.

"Felix told me. You can't keep a secret amongst people who are used to keeping secrets, especially on each other. That doesn't bother me. All that matters is how we feel here and now right, and the truth is I really like you: I mean was really beginning to like you."

"you shouldn't like me Alan. I'm nothing but trouble."

"Not to me, I can only imagine what you went through over there in Iraq, but you coming back and us meeting like this is something else don't you think. I mean I would have understood completely if you had said no tonight. But you didn't and I'm glad."

"I wish I had." Smith said tearfully "Oh God…I'm Sorry Alan. It's just…."

He held out his hands and placed them on hers. "It's Ok, it's Ok; I'm here now."

"Its Just …"

"what?"

"It's just the bad things they made me do, you know? Made me use my body to get information and …ugh Sorry: I can't say it. You know secrets and all."

"I know Susan, but I want you to know that you don't have to hide yourself for me. I know exactly who you are. Nothing you say can surprise me!"

"Yeah, Ok." She said as she dried her tears.

After her brief outpouring, the rest of the evening appeared to go swimmingly. Susan was able to get through the thoughts of applying her deadly profession by distracting herself with all the luxuries that dining in a Michelin star restaurant could offer. Besides, she had a fine Chablis at hand that she liberally tucked into. With stage one of the evenings frivolities about to end, Landers fixed up the exorbitant bill with no apparent trouble whatsoever despite being on a FBI counterterrorist officers salary. They exited the restaurant out onto the street. It was now nighttime and streetlights and the headlights from cars careering down the length of the boulevard illuminated the place.

Landers put out his hand in order to grab the attention of an approaching yellow cab that pulled over upon command. He opened the door and in a display of chivalry allowed Susan to enter first.

"Palace Hotel on Mission please," He said to the driver, upon which Susan took his wrist. "Wait." She said, "Is your place nearby?"

"No not far." Alan said.

"Take me there." Susan replied, and with that, Alan turned to the driver commanding him to go to his address in Haight-Ashbury.

The driver who was Latino did what he was commanded to do and took off much to a smirk of glee on his face, safe in the knowledge that another happy and attractive date couple were off to round off a successful evening with intercourse. He was no stranger to it and sometimes witnessed it taking place firsthand in the back of his car.

Alan secretly shared that same glee that is the universal experience amongst men in these situations, and of course being the perfect gentleman reassuringly asked Susan in a hushed tone: "Are you sure?"

"Yeah why not." She said "the truth is Alan I've missed you too, and what you said to me tonight was really sweet. Thank you." She leaned in and they kissed.

"Alright then darling, if that's what you wish." He said as he caressed her, and then engaged her lovely mouth with his once more. As they kissed, Susan was beginning to feel a sense of guilt in her heart but like the good actor, she just concentrated on the blissful yet fleeting moment of pleasure. It would only be another little while before it was all over, or so she thought. Still, even though she was deeply hurting she kept it in the back of her mind that one day she would get the pleasure of destroying Michael Wolchik but didn't quite know how yet, and that gave her a sense of optimism. She was still in the game; just about.

They cab pulled up outside Lander's fashionable Victorian style house just off Hayes street some time later and they got out. Alan paid off the driver, and charged with the anticipation of love; he wilfully opened the front door of his house and allowed her to go inside first. He shut the door behind him. Inside the hallway he caressed her softly from behind and started tenderly kissing her neck. She cracked a tortured smile, broke away from him, and said, "You're going to have to chase me."

She ran upstairs and he followed her with libidinal haste. At the top of the stairs, he swept her off her feet and carried her into his bedroom. He placed her on the bed and undid her elegant dress to reveal glorious body in all it's nakedness and hastily removed her panties. She helped to undo the buttons on his shirt and he whipped it off passionately while she loosened his trousers, which he removed with equal esteem.

After he was done fitting on the protection he so delicately reserved in his wallet for just such an occasion, she purposefully turned over on her belly, allowing him to thrust himself lovingly against her back. She couldn't bear to face him, or to derive pleasure from him for what she was about to do.

She had hoped it would be over quickly so she could get on with the task in hand but unfortunately, for her on this occasion, he was a slow lover. He alternated between soft pulsation and hard thrusts in order to prolong the act of his pleasure and inadvertently, her pain, until finally he gave out an ecstatic sigh and it was all over.

As she dressed, he contentedly laid there, naked in bed. There was a look of guilt on her face already. "I wish you didn't have to go back to England so soon." He said, as she took her handbag in her hand and reached into it pull out her pistol, concealing it from his view. "But then again that's the story of our lives Susan isn't it. I was hoping we could see each other again." He said. There was a brief silence between them. She sat on the edge of the bed, took a pillow in her hand to cover over the gun and started sobbing. He reached over to place a hand tenderly on her shoulder. "What, What is it Susan." He asked.

"Oh Alan…please forgive me for what I am about do," and with that, to a look of puzzlement on his face she stood up, turned around and emptied a single deadly round into his chest through the pillow. He collapsed back into the bed; his body now submitted to the fatal wound.

Susan sobbed harder at the first sight of her latest victim, and in that moment of grief, she backed up slowly against the bedroom wall, collapsing to the ground with the weight of her emotions. In the service, she was trained to kill dispassionately but this was different; this was a friend and lover. She took a brief moment to herself to process what she had done, and then weigh the pros and cons of the situation.

She could continue to wallow in pain, wait for the police to arrive, go through the proper diplomatic channels, but by then it would be too late. That ticking time bomb in her head would have gone off and Wolchik would still be alive. In that case scenario the service would have the embarrassment of having to cover up the loss of one of it's agents, killing one of the FBI's, and would never be able to get to the now undeniable truth that Wolchik and his affiliated corporations were involved in terrorism, even if they could prove it.

Or, was she going to pull herself together, get whatever Wolchik wanted from the computer and send a copy of it over the Univex Intranet directly to M. After all, Wolchik did say not to call her superiors; he didn't mention anything about an email. It was highly unlikely that even though he had sources within the British intelligence community, who could notice monitored calls that they would have access to the Intranet. Only M and the Chief of Staff had that information, and they were not the type that could be turned so easily.

Yes, that was the way to go. Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him get away with murder and God knows what else. Anyway, he was probably going to kill her when it was over. It was unfortunate that Alan had to die but it had to be done in order her to live so she could get at the truth. "Keep smiling girl and use the situation to your advantage," She thought to herself, with that she dried her tears, picked herself up, dusted herself off the best she could and went downstairs to look for Lander's computer.

She reached into her handbag and got out her phone. There she went online to access her skydrive that contained all the pertinent information for accessing Landers computer. The encrypted PC that Landers used was in his downstairs study. It was locked. She knew she didn't have long to get it and get out of there but she remained calm knowing that it would have been difficult to hear the shot and remained calm.

The door to the study was locked and she promptly opened it with her universal lock pick.

She went inside, turned on the lights, and proceeded to activate the computer, always conscious of time. It beamed to life and as predicted, it was encrypted. She used the passwords afforded to her by Wolchik in order to get in, and there, on the desktop was an icon to Damocles; the cloud drive her adversary talked about. She opened it using Landers password and there; to her amazement lay a much deeper more sinister nest of vipers than she had anticipated.

The files could not be read of course. Upon opening them, they appeared to be in some sort of obscure language; possibly Native American. Smith had heard of the American's encrypting their most secret documents in this way since World War II. But it was not so much this that amazed her; it was the headings of the files. All of them had to with the international criminal organisation known as QUANTUM. Lists of known associates and informants, affiliated corporations and financial fronts, as well as eyewitness accounts of whereabouts of the elusive Mr. White; it's supposed leader.

It looked like the American's were building a massive case against them, spearheaded by none other than Mr. Felix Leiter. Smith couldn't help but think to herself that the Marathon Corporation was somehow the key to it all. The private intelligence agency to the world's most sinister terrorist organisation. It made perfect sense. After all, for all the dirty nature of the work, they did; MI6 and the CIA were still culpable the government and governments are culpable ultimately to their people despite the power of the private sector.

Without dilly-dallying, Smith downloaded the all the relevant files onto her memory stick. However, she wasn't quite done yet, and accessed the Univex webmail, including them all in the attachment. She sent it to M's personal email address with the following message:

_Dear Aunty. _

_Have been comprised by the enemy. I'm in San Francisco. Liquidated FBI agent Alan Landers under duress. Been fitted with a micro-explosive set to go off in 11 hours. Wolchik is dirty and the evidence I've sent you will provide proof. May need to refer to Operation Jamestown. Need you to take care of Wolchik for me as this may be my last message. Something big is going down here I can feel it._

_005. _

Smith clicked to send button with considerable pleasure, perhaps one the best moment of fleeting pleasure she's had all night. She carefully closed down the computer and exited the house, locking the door behind her. She made her way up toward Hayes Street to hail a cab back to the hotel. Along the way, she was met by an aging bum claiming to be Vietnam War vet begging for change that she promptly told to piss off. There were many such homeless people littered around the streets of San Francisco, many of them acid casualties from the hippy days; and or the occasional heroin addict looking for a fix.

But she wasn't concerned about them. At least not yet. As she got into the cab, Something inside her was burning with anxiety at the ever-unfolding conspiracy. However she cast it aside, the night was still young and there was still time; time to burn some brain cells in some club somewhere in order to hold on her remaining semblance of normality.

"Driver." She commanded. "I feel like clubbing tonight. Take me to the best place in Town."

"You got Lady" he replied.


	14. Chapter 14

_CHAPTER 14_

_The Wheels Of Fate_

_The Cessna Citation careered over the Arctic Circle, north of the 31__st__ parallel, at 30, 000 feet on it's way from London to San Francisco. It was the personal plane of M; the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service, a small perk for a secret government dignitary. Their would be no red carpets rolled out for her at the airport, for her job was one of obscurity and her diplomacy often involved an assassins' bullet. _

_ Still, as with all the heads of secret organisations, she had the uncanny ability to play the politician and present a lie as the truth, or indeed a half truth as the truth and that was the way she intended to keep it, of course taking advantage of all the luxuries along the way while they were there. _

_ As she tucked into her bourbon, luxury was the farthest thing from her mind. The emerging situation with Marathon as the supposed private intermediary between the world of terror and the world of intelligence was not to be underestimated. Under no circumstances could she or any other intelligence agency allow Jihadists and criminals to have their own private source of counterintelligence. _

_ Despite everything, she looked surprisingly good. She made sure to get her hair done in an elegant pixie-cut before she left, and she wore the finest most expensive grey suit, all of which made her look youthful for age. She always treated herself like this in a crisis, her way of commanding the attention of the men around her and feeling good about herself in the process. _

_She was waiting for a much-anticipated Video call from the chief of staff, Bill Tanner that was to prove the high point of the evening. The computer finally beamed to life with the sound of the Skype ringtone and she clicked on the mouse pad. _

_ "Good Afternoon Ma'am" Tanner said. _

_ "Ah Tanner there you are at last, so what's the story with our native American Friends?" She replied._

_"__We've managed to decode some of Lander's files, although it hasn't been easy. The encryption language is Lakota, Slightly harder to decrypt since some of it's characters don't translate readily into the twenty six characters of the English alphabet. By the way ma'am it was brilliant of 005 to suggest going through Operation Jamestown since most of the CIA's documents are still encrypted with Native American languages"_

_ "Precisely Tanner," M said "And it's very important the yanks don't find out about our Native American friends. Still, chalk down the genius to Winston Churchill and Ian Fleming. They knew the American's would use our weakened situation in order to muscle in on our empire and we'll be God damned if we're not going to keep abreast of what their up to." _

_ "Hmm, quite ma'am quite," Tanner replied. _

_M took another sip of bourbon. "Anyway what have you found?" She asked _

_"__Well so far not a great deal ma'am. We thought it best if we start with intelligence related to Marathon. If we were to decrypt all the information it could take weeks possibly months."_

_ "yes, yes I'm aware of that Mr. Tanner." She said. "just start with what you do know."_

_Tanner, slightly taken back, continued. _

_"__Right ma'am, well according to this all the intelligence focuses on Masood Khoury's relationship with the Iranians. Apparently he and Soref have a business arrangement with Pantheon, the American military industrial giant."_

_"__Really, go on Mr. Tanner." She said. _

_"__Well apparently SITCO sold the plans to a warhead designed specifically for the Sajjil 2 medium range missile class, a device which uses Octol, a high explosive to deliver up to three grams of radioactive caesium chloride over an urban area. Apparently, its Pantheon design, although it doesn't go into specifics. Not according to 'Running Bull' our agent in the reservation." _

_"__And" _

_"__This might surprise you but there's also mention of the date of the transaction ma'am: the 16__th__ of August of this year, around the time our government along with American governments voted in a resolution in the UN to lift sanctions by unfreezing $700m of Iranian state assets in western banks. There's a big story in the news recently that Banc de Versailles were involved with funding __Flaming Sword __during that period. Did you know that Banc de Versailles is part of the Rothemere group? One of the most powerful banking dynasties in the world."_

_ "Hmm the plot thickens." M conjectured "makes you wonder who else QUANTUM have connected to. We're going to have bloody a hard time selling this the PM; anything else?" _

_"__Yes ma'am, strangely enough there's also a mention of our friend Dominic Greene the CEO of Greene Planet and the Bolivian affair. According to Landers there's evidence to suggest that Greene employed Marathon as intelligence provider to counter threats to his Tierra Project developments from local disaffected guerrillas loyal to General Medrano; the puppet dictator QUANTUM were trying to install. CIA has used Marathon on several occasions in South America for human intelligence gathering purposes so it's safe to assume Michael Wolchik is in league with QUANTUM."_

_"__Well at least know we know our enemy's true face Mr. Tanner." she asked._

_"__Indeed ma'am," Tanner replied. "How do you wish to proceed with this?" _

_"__First things first Tanner. I sent 007 to Dubai in order to go after Masood Khoury. He regularly operates from there. If we can figure out how he sells caesium chloride to the militants, we can shut down the pipeline. Nothing is more pressing than that, right?"_

_"__Prudent thinking ma'am, and what do you plan to do about 005?" Tanner asked. _

_ "That's why I'm on my way to San Francisco. I'll do everything I can to help her but if she's been turned…" _

_ "And how do plan to deal with Wolchik ma'am, if I may ask?"_

_"__Ah that's the essence of faith Mr. Tanner, Belief without question." She said, a polite way telling somebody to piss off. _

_"__Right Ma'am I think I can take a hint, I'll keep you posted as developments arise." Tanner said._

_"__Thank Bill, and well done." She replied, and ended the call. _

_With 008 tied up in Afghanistan, James Bond was M's only hope to deal directly with __Flaming Sword__. As the head of service and of the 00 section, she felt a deep responsibility for her agents. She even called them the holy trinity the nickname for the three current members of the 00 section under her tenure as M. they were only referred to by that name in management circles of course. No one else was allowed to know the true strengths of the section bar M and the Chief of Staff. _

_It is said amongst some in the service, a myth of sorts, that the last digit of a 00's number has an almost mystical significance. For example, Smith's no 005; the Five being the five pillars of Islam, the five attributes of Jainism, or even the five books of the lesser key of Solomon and so on. For James Bond 007. The seven being the seven deadly sins, the seven chakras, and of course, last but not least Kamran Shah 008; the eight possibly being related to the eight beatitudes of Christianity and the noble eightfold path of Buddhism. _

_Whatever you believe; if you're an employee of the service that's not in direct contact with them, you can believe all you want. However be warned, for in the service it would be best to keep ones beliefs to themselves and stick to what one is allowed to know. _

_M scrolled through her contacts list to find James Bond's contact address, cursing the plane as it shuddered slightly, entering a pocket of turbulence. She had planned everything down to the last detail and suspected as much that the Americans would keep their Intel on QUANTUM secret from them. As it turns out the British were working the same case from opposite ends and in a modern world where terrorism prevails and even the most powerful secret organisations can be penetrated: trusting people can be a lot harder to do, even those close to you. _

_Thankfully James Bond could always be relied upon to be trustworthy. M liked Smith and Bond but wasn't so sure about Shah because of his unconventional methods. Still, like the former two he could come up with the goods when he applied himself. But there was another altogether more convenient reason to use Bond. _

_As it turns out Bond had picked up on a lead the former Mossad agent-turned-businessman Moishe Soref had links with SITCO corporation. He was one of the services top priorities because of his association with the QUANTUM organisation and M16 needed to have dirt on him to warrant a termination. To kill him prematurely could mean disaster for them as the relationship between the Mosaad and SITCO went all the way back to Afghanistan in the 1980's and the British involvement there. For M as the head of service, these factors often put limitations on her as to what she could or couldn't do. Every detail was important and it was important to get everything right before making a move. _

_The duplicity of the Intelligence business often gave her a headache. The solution to the problem one day was the cause of the problem the next. M however, being a resilient woman handled the politicians well. There was nothing like a little stress to charge her with energy, and with the plenary side of brain very much switched on, she clicked on the Skype window to call Bond and within seconds, he answered. _

_"__Good Morning Ma'am." He said._

_"__Good Morning 007. I take it you arranged to be alone during the taking of this call. I'm not going to see any lady friends of yours emerge from underneath bed sheets am I?" _

_ "On the contrary ma'am. Business before pleasure. Besides that was last night, today I'm ready and reporting for duty as ordered." _

_ "Spare me the sordid details Bond, any news on that Masood Khoury lead I sent you to find out about."_

_ "yes ma'am, I have him. Actually, I'm in the emirate of Ra's al Khaimah awaiting orders. Thankfully you called at a good time."_

_"__Are you in any trouble Bond?" _

_"__No not immediately ma'am. However, I think I might have been watched in Dubai. I tend to notice these things. But I think everything is Ok for the moment."_

_ "Well do be careful Bond; what did you find out?"_

_ "__The latest conference of the Arab League was being held in the famous Burj Al Arab hotel. As it turns out they're all involved in a non aggression deal between Israel and Iran over the whole __Flaming Sword__ business, no doubt to profit from the oil speculation from Iranian sales." _

_ "And" _

_"__Well, ma'am I had the pleasure of 'convincing' Mr Khoury's lovely young Arab wife to help us, I managed to get some useful information from her"_

_ "Go on" _

_Apparently, our Mr Khoury is the abusive type; likes to smack his women around from time to time. She left in hysterics when he threatened to kill her and came to me. According to her, she overheard a phone conversation between him and one of the ruling sheiks here in the Emirates with whom he is friends. As you know The Arab League assists in communication between Iran and the west and try to help bring about peace amongst the nations in the region. She gave us his phone details in exchange for protection. Our station in Dubai has been listening in. We now have an absolute treasure trove of information."_

_"I can see that hiring you to the service, promiscuity aside, has its advantages 007"_

_"__Well I wouldn't have put it quite so aptly ma'am. Anyway, we intercepted a call from his friend Soref" _

_"__Well it seems you've got my attention already 007? What's on your mind?"_

_"__Well as you know it's illegal to sell nuclear materials to Iran under IAEA rules, except for medical purpose. caesium chloride is used in the treatment of certain non-malignant cancers, and Khoury has a medical supply company that sells legitimately to all the major hospitals in Tehran. Because SITCO is a legal arms firm, we have no grounds with which to investigate theirs, or any of their executive's finances unduly. We now have evidence that Soref being the director of the company authorised the shipment of caesium chloride around the time that Iranian assets in western banks were freed up. In the conversation, he lists America and Israel as potential targets for __Flaming Sword __attacks. "_

_ "Are you thinking what I'm thinking Bond?"_

_"__Yes: Our QUANTUM friends are intending to spark off a war with Iran by staging nuclear terror attacks within the three major allied states, and America is next." Bond replied. _

_ M paused and looked away from the screen trying to contain her shock at the implications of what bond just said, which confirmed her biggest fears all along. It was so unbelievable it couldn't possibly be true. Invasion of Iran would certainly be imminent if a dirty bomb went off in United States. However, the Russians would never go for it. It would almost certainly lead to a destabilisation of the region; possibly even nuclear war. Moreover, even if it were true how could a group of so-called disaffected business magnates bring about a coup of such magnitude. If one thing is true about political science, is that in science, no matter what branch it is, questions always lead to more questions. _

_ Questions aside, this was no time to speculate the who's or what's. America was in the firing line and with whimsical evidence to support her claims; she was going to have to use all the resources of her agents to stop the unthinkable. _

_ "Where's Khoury now?" she asked_

_ "__His due to leave tonight on a flight bound for Tehran." _

_ "Good work 007." M replied. _

_"__Thank you ma'am."_

_ "There's one more thing Bond; I got our people back home in Vauxhall to track Moishe Soref's private jet. It appears his headed to San Francisco. I've been doing a little digging on him. Did you know that he's on the board of directors of the Israeli Defence Forces biggest defence contractor? He's well connected. That's why it's been so hard to pin anything on the bastard. Unfortunately a few photos at an opera in Bregenz are not enough for PM, which makes our task a little bit more difficult."_

_ . "Tell me you found something." Bond said _

_"__Yes, It turns out that Soref was responsible for the I.T section of the company. The IDF have implemented a new computer system that involves the use of a cloud storage system called the cybernation. It was developed by the American company CE Technologies for sharing data between computers without the use of a mainframe. CE is of particular interest, as its run by a cousin of Wolchik's. The Iron Dome; Israel's missile defence system is linked in with it."_

_ "Is that so?" Bond said serendipitously. "I guess that improves flaming swords chances of landed a missile on the Israelis doorstep if you could jam it somehow or slow it down with a computer virus."_

_ "Which is exactly why I want you to go to Tehran? Follow Khoury; get him to reveal his contacts in __Flaming Sword__ and liquidate him, up to and including Sayyid Mizrahi. Do it cleanly Bond. I'm going to put you in touch with group 15 of the Increment, our private commando regiment. You'll go as Jason Fleming a journalist for Reuters. The Iranian government allow western journalists temporary visas in order to cover Iran's defensive capabilities from time to time; flex the military muscles so to speak. It's your job to go with group 15 to find that missile site and neutralise it. Time is of the essence Bond, if the Iranians catch you'll be on your own; no diplomatic comeback, do you understand?"_

_ "yes ma'am; fully understood?"_

_M donned a more solemn expression on her face. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone James. I'd perfectly understand if you walked away from this one and said no."_

_ "Why would I do that ma'am? The lives of millions are at stake, there's no question about it."_

_"__I admire you're zeal James" She replied._

_ "Just take care of Susan ma'am, try not to be hard on her and bring her home safely."_

_"__you care for 005 a great deal don't you Bond?"_

_ "She one of our best agents, and an important asset to the defence of our country ma'am." Bond replied. _

_ "I think it's a little more than just patriotism 007, I think you may be in love with her."_

_A brief, uncomfortable silence overcame bond. _

_"__Goodbye ma'am." He replied. "Wish me luck."_

_"__Goodbye 007 and good luck" M replied. _

_ She closed down the laptop and tucked into another bourbon. Q emerged from the lavatory, feeling bloated from the airsickness. He had been assigned to travel to San Francisco with M as he was an expert on micro explosives and could be a useful man to have should Smith need a hand, provided she wasn't already dead that is. _

_ "Well Q," M Said "how do you like your new assignment so far?" _

_"__It would be wonderful ma'am if I didn't have to travel. I hate planes. I always get airsickness," he said._

_ "Care for a drink" M said. _

_"__Oh god no," Q replied. as the plane hit a pocket of turbulence and then disappeared into the lavatory. M smiled, "M Where do you get them" She said. _

_Smith had arranged to meet Wolchik at the same tenement in Oakland to which he had her abducted to when she first arrived. Wolchik instructed her to wait there until he came along and she had no hesitation in complying, after all her life hung in the balance. She went up to the front door of the house to open it but he had locked it. It was a sick joke, as normally no one in his or her right mind would go into a rough area of an American city, particularly a white person in a black area. _

_Despite the promises of the new would be political messiah president Barrett Hussein Anderson, this latent racism in America would never change and racism can work both ways, made evident by the fact that a young male in hip hop clothes and a 49ers woolly hat had spotted her. He was obviously up to no good, and shouted at her from across the street. _

_ "Yo White lady!" He said "Don't you think you in the wrong hood? You looking for some action or something huh!"_

_At that moment, her worst fear had been realised. She turned to him and said, "No action you're interested in I'm afraid." _

_"__Aight," He said, putting his hands up in surrender. Still, he wasn't going away and he leered at her with a hint of devilment in his eyes."_

_"__What?" she said, as he was looking over at her._

_"__Nothing!" he replied innocently. _

_The very last thing she wanted to do was attract attention. All she wanted for him was to go away so she could deliver the memory stick with the files downloaded from Damocles and get the hell out of dodge, if there was a dodge to go to that is. Her hand instinctively padded her jacket for the flat bulge that was her pistol strewn around her waist, just in order to reassure her that it was there. She hoped she wouldn't have to use it. That was the last thing on her mind. _

_ She assumed that he might be dangerous but at the same didn't want to give in to judging a book by its cover. Maybe he was just plain bored and needed someone to taunt to pass the day, and she just so happened to be fair game. _

_"__England huh, the queen and all dat shit huh." _

_"__yeah fish and chips and bowler hat and all that jazz." Smith joked _

_"__well it just so happens that I lo' dat shit, allow a brother to come on over and entertain you while you're waiting" _

_ "I said I'm not interested, Fuck off!" She said. It wasn't the most diplomatic response in the world but she was under enough stress as it was. Unfortunately it only served to rile him further. _

_"__You talking down at me huh Bitch?" He exclaimed as he began to cross the street. _

_ "Don't make me do this, walk away now," She said._

_"__You don't tell me what do." He said as he attempted to make a swing for her with his right arm. _

_ She expertly swivelled her body around to the right in an aikido style move, avoiding the punch and swiftly elbowed him into the face. He dropped to the ground lack a sack of potatoes and she pulled her gun and pointed it to the back of his head. _

_ "I warned you." She said "Turn away and go back where you came from. I'm nothing but trouble, forget I was ever here. you got it?" _

_ "Shit lady you aint no cop" he said, in a frightened tone from a bloodied mouth. _

_Then all of a sudden, a van pulled up on the kerb outside the house, stopping almost short of knocking her down, its brakes screeched to a grinding halt as it was driven at speed. It had a Marathon security logo on the front of it. By this time Smith relinquished her hold on her young assailant and stood there looking at it. _

_ "Shit lady, you into some heavy motherfucking shit. I getting out of here." he said in a panic. He collected himself and scurried off up the street as fast as his legs could carry him. It was plain to see that any vehicle that had the Marathon logo was a symbol of fear in the local neighbourhood. One could only speculate as to the kind of power this corporation had with the local authorities, the kind of malevolent power which Smith herself had now succumbed to. _

_ The side door swung open and Wolchik along with two intimidating jarhead type heavies in black recon gear brandishing FN90 Bullpups climbed out. Wolchik, as ever was in a sadistically good mood, this time looking like a neoconservative politician in a dull blue-grey suit and fascist red tie. _

_"__Ah Agent Smith good to see you again." Wolchik said. "I see you're having some fun with the natives huh, but then again you always did like a bit of Negro didn't you."_

_ "you're going to rue the day you crossed me you bastard." She said, as she placed gun back in its holster begrudgingly knowing that shooting Wolchik would be committing suicide, given the time bomb close to her brain stem, and given that his heavies would drop her in a second with their awesome firepower. _

_"__Yeah, Yeah tell it to someone who cares 005. oh, by the way congrats on the way you handled Landers. They found him naked with a gunshot wound to the chest in his house. You redcoats sure know how to give a guy a last request." _

_ "Cut the bullshit Wolchik and get this bloody thing out of me!" She exclaimed. _

_"__First things first 005; the memory stick you promised me?" he replied. _

_ Smith reached to the pocket of her overcoat and retrieved the memory stick, begrudgingly placing it in Wolchik's hand. _

_ "Now how about removing that bloody micro-explosive?" She said. _

_"__Not yet 005, Get her gun?'' he said to one of his henchman who frisked her and disarmed her while his colleague trained his deadly weapon on her._

_ "good," Wolchik said as the henchman handed him her weapon. "but unfortunately I can't let you off the hook that easily, you see you contacted your people and I'm afraid that's non-compliance." _

_ "Why am I not surprised, what the hell are you talking about!" She exclaimed._

_He shoved a PC tablet in front of her face. "Then maybe you can explain why she's here." he said pointing at the photo of M coming of the plane in San Francisco International. Smith was overcome by a sudden silence. _

_ "yeah," He said, "We spotted her getting of her private jet just this morning; obviously you must have emailed her!" _

_ "yeah that's right, I gave her all of Landers files which means you and your QUANTUM cronies are screwed. Its only a matter of time before a 00 put a well-deserved bullet in your skull, so go ahead and kill me you bastard; see you in hell." She said. _

_ "I'm sorry to disappoint you but that aint where I'm going, unlike you. The bible says I'm not guilty of sodomy; my conscience is clean. However I'll be happy to oblige you; so long 00 nothing." He said, and pulled out his stopwatch and pressed the silver button. He threw her a separate digital stopwatch. The time on it was synchronised to that of Wolchik's. The device was set to go off in 60 seconds and counting. He deliberately wanted her to watch the countdown to her death. _

_ "Alright, alright! I get the picture." She replied in a panicky voice. The clock was counting down fast; super seconds flickered away at speed, giving way to seconds. 60, 59, 58. _

_ "I get the picture you bastard!" Smith exclaimed. 30 29 28 27._

_"__Come now 005 be nice now, and maybe I might have a change of heart." 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11, the clock was ticking fast. "ok Wolchik you win I value my fucking life ok, Please?" Then suddenly Wolchik depressed the silver button on his stopwatch, it was just three seconds away from detonation. _

_ "get in the van." He said. She stood their stunned and took a moment to recover from the shock of the ordeal. "Get in the van, now!" he said and she went in without question, sandwiched between the two heavies; the shell of the operative she once was, powerless and defenceless to fight them or to engage her nemesis_

_"__Where are we going?" she asked, in an affirmative tone._

_"__Downtown," he said. "To take out that little device and send you on your merry little way."_

_ "Why can't you take it out here?" She asked. _

_"__That's for me to know and you to find out ain't it. Castro pronto!" he shouted at the driver, who obediently drove off in the direction of the Bay bridge. Wolchik had with him a pistol that he pulled out of his coat and rested against his lap.  
>"This is just in case you try you're 00 jujitsu on me?"<em>

_ "What's going on in Castro?" Smith asked, with a sense of unease. _

_"__The key to all of our desires Ms Smith, yours and mine: freedom." He replied. _


	15. Chapter 15

_CHAPTER 15_

_Countdown_

_"__My God… you've planted a bomb there haven't you…. Haven't you!" Smith said._

_ A look of glee almost developed on Wolchik's face. "He he, yeah sort of," He replied. _

_"__You're that evil you would kill and maim your own countrymen?" She said, horrified. _

_" __No man who practices that sick lifestyle can call themselves a countryman of mine; besides, their deaths will serve as a means to destroy Islam, so it's not a total loss after all, is it 005" He replied. _

_"__You really think you're going to actually get away with trying to trick America in to going to war against Iran, by planting a bomb in a gay area of San Francisco, come of it Wolchik. We know everything about you and your sick bible-bashing white supremacist past, and we have evidence to back up your sordid little dealings with QUANTUM. We know your part of the cartel, so you detonate that bomb, you might as well have signed your own death warrant because they'll hunt you down and shoot you like a dog."_

_All this time Wolchik was chuckling through the entirety of Smith's tirade. "Ah you see that's the thing honey; we're the money power. We can buy our way out of anything, and you know what they say about big lies don't you. Say them often and eventually the brain dead masses will believe it. That's how we roll over here, it's the economy stupid, that's all we care about, and of course keeping the niggers and the hajjis off our backdoor step. So who are they gonna believe first, a bunch of redcoats, or the people who provide them with jobs." He retorted._

_"__The bigger picture," Smith replied _

_"__that's right, the bigger picture." Wolchik said. "Now you're getting it." _

_At that point, his cruel logic defeated Smith yet again and could sense that it was all over for her; there's no getting out of this one. She knew he wasn't going to let her go that easily. With the barrel of an FN90 wedged into her side coupled with Wolchik's pistol, the odds weren't encouraging to say the least. She was going to die a meaningless death and the bad-guys were going to win. Yet at the same time a particle inside her, call it an inner voice, beckoned her to stay in the game. _

_Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside the Mission Del Asis on Dolores Street, the oldest church in San Francisco, yet another sick joke on behalf of Wolchik. One of his henchmen opened the side door of the van. _

_ "Out you get 005." He said, waving his pistol._

_"__We had a deal Wolchik. You said that you would get this thing out of me exchange for me doing your dirty work." _

_ "And we do so get the fuck out!" He said, and she obeyed. He pulled out his stopwatch out of his pocket. He was about to press the button to disarm it when he reconsidered. "Nah, I can't in all conscience do it. I'm afraid you're on your own." _

_"__Why am I not surprised?" Smith retorted._

_ "__Oooh exactly a half hour left on the clock." Wolchik replied. "I reset it especially for you. That should give you ample time to get up to your boss in the federal building and get that little thing out of you, you have your stopwatch I provided so can accurately count down the time you have left. Oh and by way if it's any consolation, if you die, the world won't miss you, I certainly won't"_

_ "__You're a real piece of shit Wolchik, you know that?" Smith said _

_Goodbye Lieutenant. It sure was a pleasure fucking with your conscience," he replied as he laughed, and then slammed the van door in her face. _

_ The van took off in the direction of 18__th__ street for Castro. Wolchik pulled out his phone and dialled a number. _

_"__Mr Dominguez, Is the device ready?" Wolchik asked._

_"__Yes sir, I made sure to plant in a place that would cause maximum collateral damage as requested sir."_

_"__Good Mr Dominguez, Good. I can see a pay raise in your future, Fagville no more eh." _

_"__Affirmative sir," Dominguez said._

_"__How did convince our Iranian hajji friend to cooperate anyhow?" Wolchik asked._

_"__I had his family kidnapped; I told him that if he didn't wait in the van with the device I'd kill them personally."_

_"__Good work Mr Dominguez!"_

_"__First things first sir, what are we going to do with Smith?"_

_"__Oh don't worry about her, I let her go. If the micro doesn't kill her the radiations will, one less queer in the world to deal with huh?"_

_"__Yeah, wise decision sir." Dominguez replied._

_"__Well Dominguez I think our work is done here. I'll pick you up in a few minutes. I take it you'll be ready."_

_"__Yes sir." Dominguez replied and with that, Wolchik ended the call._

_On 16__th__ street, a different drama was unfolding; Smith stood by the church, got out her Cell phone and with a sense of urgency called M's personal number._

_ "Ma'am it's 005." She said. _

_"__Smith what the hell have you been up to?" M barked back. "On the news for murder? Are you trying to get yourself killed, and maybe destroy the service at the same time? Well you're doing a bloody great job." _

_ "I'm sorry ma'am but we've no time for that! I only have 20 minutes to live at most with this thing inside me so listen! I need to tell you that Wolchik has a dirty bomb and he's planted it somewhere in Castro, you need to get the authorities here now!" _

_ "Here!" M replied "In San Francisco?" _

_"__Yes, We only have a few minutes." _

_ "Stay there, we'll send someone to pick you up. We've traced you to the Mission de asis church 16__th__ Street. I have Q here with me. It took him a while to get past the encryption on your phone." _

_ "I wouldn't if I were you, you're being watched." Smith said. "I'll have to make my own way up….Oh no."_

_"__005…005 what's wrong?"_

_ "Never mind I'll call you back. Get someone down to Castro now." Smith said, and ended the call. _

_An officer of the SFPD had overheard Smith shouting into the telephone. He was about to follow his partner into a café on the street when he, and undoubtedly the people around her had overheard her, and that was not a good thing. _

_ He had a stereotypical intimidating American cop look with the black spiky topped hair, soldierly build together with matching state trooper sunglasses, and as with all police in America, they tend to treat even the slightest misdemeanour with the same seriousness as a murder enquiry._

_ "Excuse me ma'am." he said. "I understand you were shouting something about a bomb from across the street? You know it's not kosher to say that around here." _

_ "Yes, I know sorry, I'm with British Intelligence. It's hard to explain but I need to get to the federal building urgently and I'm going to need you to get me there within the next twenty minutes. Can you help me?"_

_ "Ok ma'am you got some ID?"_

_"__Of course I've no bloody ID why do you think it's called the secret service!" She said._

_"__Alright ma'am turn around, you're going downtown." He said._

_ "I knew you'd say that." She said, and she turned around. She took one look up at the church while he was getting out his handcuffs and said; "Forgive me for what I'm about to do."_

_ With that, she jerked her head back and head butted him in the nose, followed by a swift elbow to the stomach and finishing with an elbow to the back of the neck. _

_ As he dropped to the ground she turned around and spotted his patrol car. She grabbed the keys off his belt and made her way across the street. By this time, his partner had spotted the whole incident from inside the café but by the time he got outside, she had sat into the patrol car and drove off. He drew his Smith and Wesson Semi Automatic and fired off a few indiscriminate shots at the car that fortunately didn't land. _

_Smith drove passionately up 16__th__ street, careered up Church Street and swung a hard right onto Market Street. She put on the siren deliberately so that cars would move out of the way and would allow her to overtake at speed if needed. The traffic was heavy yet Smith navigated it commandingly. She dangerously overtook a car that was trundling along at thirty and almost ran into one of those infamous San Francisco touristy trams that was coming in the opposite direction. She let out a relieved breath of air. Thankfully, she got into her own lane narrowly. She turned on the Sat Nav on the dashboard inputting the directions whilst driving. It was to be a simple twelve-minute journey up the length of Market Street and then a right at 7__th__ street where the key to her salvation lay. However, things in life are rarely simple, and a slight inconvenience in the form of a planned police roadblock was unfolding as she listened in on the radio._

_ It was going to be set up at Franklin street junction. She kicked herself for being so stupid but then quickly remembered her Special Forces stunt driver-training course that she took as part of the 00-section training. She remembered that if you slowed down your vehicle to exactly 15mph you could use your vehicle as a battering ram without activating the airbag. Upon overhearing the police conversation Smith slowed down from gradually from 40mph to 15 and there it was, a great big fortress of four patrol cars traversing the street. Smith expertly played chicken and without stopping, rammed the two centre cars and pushed her way through, knocking them out of the way. She continued up the street unscathed bar a fender bender. _

_ The officers that set up the roadblock scrambled into their cars and took off after her at speed. The urgency of getting up to the Federal building now became increasingly more apparent to Smith. She checks her stopwatch, nine minutes to go. She was going to have to be a little quicker getting up to her destination. As her police, pursuers trailed close behind she found that she had to meander dangerously around the traffic in order to shake them off. One of the patrol cars was not so lucky and was nicked by an 18-wheeler on the opposing lane. _

_ At last, she got up to Seventh Street. Unfortunately one of police cars that was following her made it also, made worst by the fact that another was waiting outside the federal building. She could see the officers waiting by the vehicle, weapons poised on ready. With that, she made a decision to head straight for the vehicle and she rammed the side of it to disorient them. _

_ Shaken, Smith got out, the adrenaline still very much charged. She headed straight up the steps to the entrance of the building as fast as her legs could carry her. The pursuing car skidded to a halt outside the building shortly after, and teamed up with their stunned colleagues, making after her. _

_ She had gotten in through to revolving door. She ploughed straight into a security guard on the way to the stairs across the lobby and she fell to the ground. He grabbed her from behind as she attempted to get up. _

_"__Let me go I need to see Henry Sessions!" she exclaimed. By this time the police had arrived and an officer pinned her to the ground. She could feel the muzzle of an intimidating semi-automatic pressing against the back of her head as he was attempting to handcuff her. _

_ "Stop!" a voice cried out from the top of the stairs. It was M, the head of service. Sessions, a man in his late fifties with big glasses and grey hair parted to one side, stood alongside her. "Its alright boys let her go, I'm Henry Sessions FBI" He said, and they complied. _

_ "Are you alright Smith?" M asked._

_"__I will be when I get this bloody thing out of me." She replied. She pulled out the stopwatch Wolchik gave her and looked at it. "Less than two minutes to go, Christ" _

_ "We'd better get you up to Q," M said. "Follow us" and with that, they scurried up the stairs to the FBI office, leaving behind a flabbergasted police force. _

_ They ascended three flights of stairs to get to the office and a darted across the office floor to get to the conference room where the new head of Q branch was waiting. _

_ "Hi Susan." He said _

_"__Geoffrey thank god," She said, hugging him. "you get this out of me and I'll have your baby." _

_"__I might hold you to that Susan. Have a seat" He said facetiously. _

_"__Can you remove it Q" M said._

_ Q put on his prophylactic gloves, swept aside a lock of her hair and scanned her neck with an ultrasound device he had borrowed from Q branch for just such an occasion._

_ "Eureka," he said. "phlegmatized shrapnel device, very nasty, coupled with some advanced lithium niobate nano-circuitry you can do a lot of damage with it."_

_ "Now would be a good time Q" Smith interjected. _

_"__Oh yes of course," he said. With less than twenty seconds to go, he got out a sterile swab. _

_"__this may hurt a bit?" he said "but I've remove them before so don't worry?"_

_ "Just get on with it Q." She said. _

_He swabbed Smith's neck, got the scalpel and made a small incision in her flesh. She let a yelp out in pain for a brief moment but he was experienced and used a special tweezers in order to pull it out."_

_ "Done," he said and the little device exploded on the tweezers. Smith let out a cathartic sigh of relief and bent down in her chair, her face collapsed into her hands._

_ The nightmare was over but a new one was beginning. _

_"__My God!" Sessions said as he watched the TV in the office "Castro has just been bombed!" he said. _

_ They all clamoured around the TV set like gawkers at a crash scene. It tends to be the human instinct to be fascinated with death. After all, there's no news like bad news. The unfolding images of downtown Castro brought the cruelty of the human species to light. A dark plume of toxic radioactive smoke enveloped the screen where there was once a peaceful neighbourhood. There were scenes of mangled smouldering remains of what used to be automobiles, and the gaping shell of what use to be Castro's famous movie theatre. Yes, it seemed Wolchik got what he wanted, to kill as many gay people as but in doing so he may have destroyed his own country. _

_ "this is bad. this is really bad, this means war; world freaking war." Sessions said and he rushed out of the room to converse with his people. _

_ "I'd better go join him," Q said. "See if I can find out anything more," and left the room to go after Sessions._

_ "Well 005, I think we may well have reached the point where our greatest fears are beginning to materialise. If we don't pull our socks up there'll be no going back." M said in a subdued tone. _

_"__It appears so ma'am, but I'm inclined not to agree. I know it's hard to see now but I can't believe that he would endanger his own country like that, not to that extent. There must be more to this than meets the eye."_

_ "I'm inclined to agree with that assessment Susan." M said. "But we're going to have some job selling it to the authorities if the public is in a state of panic. What are we to do?"_

_ "Don't worry ma'am, I'm sure something will materialise."_

_"__What exactly?" M said. She ventured to towards the window to look out at a city that was by now thrown into the limelight, and for all the wrong reasons._

_ "I don't know ma'am I'm making this up as I go, so far I've been doing ok. First things first, we find Wolchik; we find him and kill him. And kill the bastard I shall," She said. _


	16. Chapter 16

_CHAPTER 16_

_Bite The Bullet_

_By now, the panic had spread throughout the city of San Francisco at the announcement by Ayatollah Sayyid Mizrahi that __Flaming Sword __had launched the attack. The image of him displayed on the news bore an uncanny resemblance to the exact same image that greeted Smith when she first heard of them in Iraq. _

_The powers-that-be obviously released it in that fashion to create the maximum panic possible. Smith and M, ever mindful of this, sat in the office watching the frantic news reports. The FBI had prohibited them from leaving the building. The city authorities quarantined the immediate blast area within a two-kilometre radius as a precaution, and the civil defence came around with Iodine pills for everyone. By now, dozens of National Guardsmen in nuclear biological chemical suits patrolled the city streets. _

_Wolchik knew what he was doing when he planted the dirty bomb here in San Francisco. It was a small city with a large population and had the added misfortune of being windy in autumn. The fallout cloud would have maximum effect within a matter of minutes, depending on wind speed._

_ There were only ten people killed in the immediate blast, but the more long lasting, lingering cost to life and property was only beginning to unfold. Q entered the office with some news._

_ "I just overheard one of the agents on the phone from one of the Haz-Met teams. It turns out that the radiation exposure levels due to the bomb measure at about 5.1 millisieverts." He said. _

_ If my memory serves me correctly, the non-lethal dose is 2.4" M replied._

_"__Yes," Q said. "About two and a half times the normal dose, yet still not enough to be of significant cancer risk to the wider population. Yet still the cities hospitals are overrun with people queuing to be tested for radiation poisoning." _

_ "Enough to cause panic, and that's what Wolchik wanted all along;" Smith said "this is a false flag operation through and through; but surely he can't be inviting World War III, the Russians would definitely fight back."_

_ "Thank you Q can you give us a moment please?" M said._

_"__Of course," Q replied and exited the office. _

_ "I'm afraid it may be too late for that 005. In recent months, the tensions between Herbert Walker and the Russian president Vladimir Potemkin has reached boiling point over missile defence shields in Poland. Walker had to back down eventually but Potemkin vowed to engage America militarily if Israel got involved in a conflict in Iran, 007 is working on it from the Iranian end." _

_ "How may I ask?" Smith said. _

_"__I've sent to him kill Mizrahi and find the Sajjil 2 missile they plan on firing and disarm it. According to Landers' files, Pantheon Corporation has designed a warhead for it that can deliver up to three to four grams of caesium chloride. Just imagine it 005, Israel gets involved, then the US and UK puts boots on the ground, and then Russia gets involved. If that happens, we'll be beyond spying. God this is the bad time. This is the very bad time. Now all we can do is pray." _

_There was a sudden silence in the room. Smith sat at the television and spotted the subtitles of a report of particular interest on CNN_

_"__Ma'am look at this." she said pointing to the screen. _

_"__Turn it up," M commanded, and Smith did so without hesitation. _

_"__Good afternoon I'm Andrew Fox, the news just in. The new presidential hopeful Senator Barrett Hussein Anderson is involved in talks with the Iranian's over the nuclear attack in the downtown area of San Francisco. The candidate has issued a stern warning to Iran's president that delivering Sayyid Mizrahi, leader of the Islamist group Flaming Sword to the United States is the only option for the peace and stability of the world. Anderson in conjunction with President Walker has arranged a summit in Davos Switzerland where Russia, America, the UK and Iran will try to hammer out a deal. Israel, a key player in the saga is notably absent from the talks at present. We'll have more on this story as it arises."_

_Smith all of a sudden had an epiphany. "Of course." She said. "it's not war QUANTUM wants it's peace, and the price is Marathon." _

_"__How do you mean?" M said. _

_"__Well don't you see? Nobody will risk going to war, and if Israel gets involved, Iran will have to come to an agreement. They'll buckle under the political pressure at home and abroad leaving the west to demand any sort of so-called reforms from them."_

_ "Makes sense!" M said, "Marathon advises all the major oil companies on security and diminishing returns analysis for oil reserves as well. Effectively they'd be able to transforming Iran's economy and political landscape within a matter of months without firing a single shot, and, it's also worth noting also that Barrett Anderson was a former employee with Intelligence International, the private company that became Marathon's intelligence division in 2000."_

_ "Of course ma'am" Smith said. "Its only natural for Anderson to defend his former employers interests. Everything is privately done nowadays, so the government can deny all responsibility. The CIA wouldn't have to get involved at all. Just think of it, there would be total hegemony of the private sector military/intelligence industry their. Marathon would become the most powerful corporation in the world overnight. We could be made redundant, and QUANTUM would have a free hand to operate anywhere they desire. They literally would be able take over any country they wish." _

_ "We've got to stop them."_

_"__How?" smith asked._

_ "We've traced Moishe Soref's private plane into San Francisco International yesterday, he has access to Israel's Iron Dome missile defence system. It's obvious that he has rigged it to allow the Sajjil missile through the Israeli defences. They're system can be controlled remotely from a laptop or a PC because it's now part of a NATO cloud network called the Cybernation developed by CE technologies. They're another company who believed to be on the Cartel list, according to Lander's files. I want you and kill both Wolchik and Soref. Find the means they use for controlling iron dome and destroy it. Q will help you find them."_

_ "With pleasure," Smith said, and just as she made for the door, M called her back._

_ "Susan?" she said. "Make sure Wolchik feels pain when he dies." _

_"__You don't have to ask ma'am." Smith replied, and opened the door to leave when in walked Henry Sessions. _

_"__Were do you think your going Ms. Smith?" he asked._

_ "Out Mr. Sessions, to leave. It is a free country last time I checked." She said._

_ "Not so fast," he said. "The building has been quarantined and there are just a few unresolved issues regarding Alan Landers that need rectifying. We've got to talk Mrs M. It seems that you haven't been letting me in on the full story," he said. _

_"__It's just plain M to you __Mr.__ Sessions, and you better keep your comments to yourself. Besides I've shared a great deal more with you and you're CIA partners than you have with us in the past. At the best of times I've met with brick walls from you people." _

_ "Never mind about that, our IT experts found that Alan Landers' Damocles system was accessed around the time of his death. Did your agent have anything to do it perhaps?"_

_ "That's a flagrant allegation, Mr Sessions. You're out of line!" Smith said. _

_"__Maybe so but we have evidence on Wolchik's company Marathon, and their involvement in the Cartel, the corporate front of the QUANTUM organisation. I therefore can't help but wonder if planting that little device in your head, and the death of one of their executives, Anna Amore for instance, had something to do with Alan's murder. After all you did have a relationship with both parties" _

_ "What are you trying to say Mr. Sessions?" M said._

_"__I'm saying that if you're department is keeping secrets from us, we need to know to about it, now." _

_ "Well maybe if you hadn't kept your secrets from us in the first place, and propped up these neoliberal cronies we wouldn't be in the position that we're in today." M said. _

_ "I think I'd better slip out side ways." Smith said. _

_ "Not so fast, and might I say M, coming from a Thatcherite that's rich, but we're not here to split hairs. The fact is that if these allegations are true, it represents a serious conflict of interest between two major allies involved in intelligence cooperation. Not to mention murder charges."_

_ "Bullshit, you wouldn't know cooperation if it sat on your head, so why don't you step aside and let us do what we do best, which is finding those responsible for this crime." Smith said. _

_"__Yeah and what about crimes against your allies?" He exclaimed._

_"__Look Mr. Sessions," Smith said. "Finding Wolchik is our top priority and unlike you American's we don't have our priorities up our own arses. Do you want the fact that you withheld information on The Cartel from us to end up on my report and getting into the hands of your bosses? Because we can make it happen."_

_"__I suppose not." Sessions replied._

_"__Then get out of my way before another murder really is added to my list. Because to tell you the truth Mr Sessions, you wouldn't be the first." Smith replied, and with that, Sessions stormed out of the office in a huff._

_ "Well played 005," M said, "Not the most diplomatic response but well played."_

_ "Men; always on a mission huh," Smith said. _

_"__You'd better get going, good look 005."_

_ "Thank you ma'am."_

_Smith exited the office and went over to the water cooler where Q was sitting with his laptop case at his side. _

_ "Ah Susan hi, care for some water." He said. _

_"__I've love some thanks." She said, as he handed her a cup. "All though I could use a few stiff drinks to be honest but I got to keep my head in the game." _

_ "Yeah me too," He replied. _

_Susan donned a perplexed look at the remark as she took a sip of water. It was obvious that he was trying too hard, or perhaps trying to make amends in some way for his embarrassing proposition towards her a year ago. She pulled out her phone and got up Wolchik's number_

_ "I need you to track the GPS location for this number," She said. "Have you still got your Echelon tracking software?" She said. _

_ "Yes," he said, getting out his laptop. "GCHQ is tied in with the NSA's system so we should be able to trace it. I can get past the encryption on his phone no problem. We can still track his cell data even if the phone is off. "_

_ "Q you're a genius," She said as he busied himself at his machine. _

_"__Oh it's nothing. I do this sort of thing for breakfast. Aha I got it." He said._

_ "You have something already?" She said. _

_"__I've accessed the cell data, according to this the last known location was ten minutes ago; coordinates 32˚41'52"N, 117˚12'47''W. Let me just input the coordinates into the search engine… Aha, its Rockwell airfield, and old Army Air Station in San Diego built in 1911 that according to this, Marathon have bought for their logistical supply planes. A current Naval Air Station built close to the site is still in use."_

_ "Then that's got to be it. Thanks Q you're a star." She said and got up to leave. _

_"__One moment," Q said. "You may need some backup." He produced a pen from his coat pocket._

_ "Exploding pens, I think we're beyond that don't you think?" Smith said. _

_"__Not quite." Q replied. He pressed the top three times and out came a needle."_

_ He looked around to make sure nobody from the office was eavesdropping. "Micro injection syringe," He said. "It contains a serum of molecule sized nano-chips that are chemically bonded to an inert form of poison. This one contains 5 mg of SARIN. These devices are designed to deliver a localised injection of poison into the body in any form without it being detected." _

_ "Brilliant, how do you work it?" _

_"__Press the top three times, inject it subcutaneously or which ever suits to release the nanochips then press the top of the pen once to activate the poison, good luck." He said. "and maybe when you're done we can…never mind. I'm sorry I embarrassed you last year, how stupid of me…" _

_"__Aw Geoffrey," She said, as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't stop trying. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to bite the bullet and apologise to Sessions so he can let me out of here." _


	17. Chapter 17

_CHAPTER 17_

_Snakes on a Plane_

_The V22 Osprey was a unique feat of military aviation design. Designed to take off like a helicopter and fly long distance like a military transport, it was the perfect choice of aircraft for what Smith had in mind, for she planned to sneak onto Rockwell airfield undetected. It was a prudent decision to hitch a ride with one, as it was on its way to the Naval Air Station from Nellis Air Force base in Nevada anyway._

_ It was not the most comfortable of rides but that didn't matter, because she was drawing closer to making the kill she so desperately wanted to make since arriving in San Francisco; the death of Michael Wolchik. _

_For some reason the Megadeth track, __Sweating Bullets __kept playing repeatedly in her mind and put it down to combat nerves. With that, she exchanged a smile with Technical Sergeant Griffin, her winch operator for the mission. She had planned to abseil down from the aircraft on a secluded corner of Coronado Island in San Diego County where the airfield was located. She would then silently make her way to the base, sneak in and attach a limpet mine to Wolchik's plane, and then watch from a safe distance as he, along with the plane went up in smoke. No easy feat to say the least but she wasn't complaining. This was the kind of work she had trained for and enjoyed doing, taking to it like a fish to water. _

_ They hovered over the landing zone. "Get ready lieutenant!" Griffin shouted as a he opened the side door of the plane. A biting Pacific breeze wafted into the cabin and Smith went to the door, dressed in a green digital camouflaged flight suit. "Go, Go!" he shouted as she strapped on the rope and slowly descended onto the grass. She got onto the ground and released the rope, signalling Griffin to take off. _

_ The Osprey took off into the horizon and with its job completed; the first thing Smith went for was her gun. She cocked it, took off her heavy flight overalls that she wore over her black recon gear. She then took off her helmet, hid both items behind a rock and shook out her long hair. She tied it up in a quick ponytail and then made her way to towards the airfield, carrying the small mine in a satchel she had with her strapped around her shoulder. _

_She had a look of satisfaction on her face. She knew that since 9/11 that the airspace over America would only allow military aircraft to fly within several hours of an attack. Therefore, that meant Wolchik would spend the next hour grounded and couldn't get out despite all his power. After all, his difficulty was Smith's opportunity. _

_ She came to the perimeter fence. It had Marathon's intimidating logo emblazoned on it that consisted of a three-talon eagle claw fashioned in the shape of an M. The same ugly symbol greeted her in Germany and the Philippines. She knew that it was the last time she'd lay eyes on it, whatever the outcome or whoever would come out of it alive. She was going to make damn sure it would be her. She saw Wolchik and Dominguez coming out of the hangar office and making their way across the tarmac onto the plane. It was right where she wanted him to be. _

_ In a cruel twist of fate though, the fence dividing her from Wolchik purred with the sound of twenty thousand volts of raw electricity coursing through it. She would have to find another way in. She got out her field binoculars to get a good view the plane and possible surrounding areas or places where she could take cover. As it turns out Wolchik was vane enough to convert an old B52 bomber into his own private jet. He bought a decommissioned one especially off the US Air Force and got Lockheed Martin to fit it out for him. _

_ However, vanity has its dangers, and Smith found a suitable place for a cover behind a set of oil drums close to the plane once inside. Smith made her around the front of the complex. She hid behind a bush whilst the supply trucks entered and watched their rotations. She isolated a single one, grabbed onto the back of and hoisted herself up. The truck ventured inside and stopped at a bunch of crates placed outside a hangar. She hid behind them, observed the guards' rotations, and darted across to the oil drums. _

_ Having seen that the coast was clear, she crept over to the plane and took off the satchel containing the mine from over her shoulder. She placed the device on the under carriage of the fuselage. She armed it and waited to make sure the coast was clear so she could get out of the compound and watch gleefully as Wolchik met his demise, all thanks to remote control. _

_ Unfortunately, one of the guards had been observant and spotted some movement by the plane. He and his colleague with him went over to investigate. _

_ "Hold it," He said. Smith froze _

_"__Oh come on mate, I'm going to be late for my date." She replied. _

_ "Yeah, yeah tell it to Mr. Wolchik." He said as he spotted the device and disarmed it. His colleague went over to frisk her. _

_"__You don't understand you see Wolchik is my date. I don't like him, he's the rough type, I was about to break it off when you came along. You look like a handsome man. We can get it on if you like." She said, and jerked her body against his. She turned and gave him a crashing sidekick in the torso followed by a blow to the face that knocked him to the ground. She deflected the weapon of the other man at close quarters and punched him in the stomach. However, his colleague was strong and recovered quickly and got out a stun baton, jamming it into her side._

_ They picked up Smiths stunned body together; one of them grabbed her by the ponytail and pulled her head back while the other relieved her of her Sig Sauer P230. One of the guards got out his walkie-talkie to radio Wolchik. _

_ "Sir I'm sorry to disturb you, It's urgent," He said. _

_"__You're damn right your sorry," Wolchik said "I'm about to have a fucking meeting! what part of 'do not disturb' do you dumbasses understand." _

_ "I know sir but there has been an intruder, a Brit sir, brunette woman, early thirties."_

_"__Smith, Susan goddamn Smith" he uttered to himself. "Alright take to the office and hold her there I'll deal with her later." _

_ "Affirmative sir," he said ending the call. "Come on lady let's go" He said, training his weapon on her while the other grabbed a hold on her and pushed her along "Too bad, we could have had fun together" She said _

_"__yeah, yeah come and lets go," He replied. _

_While this was happening, a civilian helicopter came in over the horizon to land on the base. Obviously, it was an important dignitary of some kind, since a grounding order applied to every civilian aircraft without question. Then all of sudden she stopped to look at who dismounted from the helicopter. It was the one and only Moishe Soref, and with him, Armand Rothemere, one most powerful men in the world with his sycophantic entourage of two wicked looking, nicely groomed and well-armed bodyguards. She recognised the flat grey hair and tortoise-like, aged looking face of Rothemere instantly, as he was well known in financial circles. As he looked in her direction, the emptiness of his eyes caught her briefly. It was like there was no soul behind them. _

_He was head of the powerful Rothemere banking dynasty, __the__ most influential financier in the world. Naturally, he was subject to the butt of many conspiracy theories, anti-Semitic and otherwise. All sudden the conspiracy nuts didn't seem so laughable anymore; for there is a grain of truth in everything, you see, hear or read on the news no matter what the source. _

_However, what Susan and indeed the world didn't know at that time, or could never be allowed to know, was that Armand was the older brother of Salazar Rothemere III; the elusive Mr. White of QUANTUM. _


	18. Chapter 18

_CHAPTER 18_

_The Kiss Of Death_

_Wolchik and Dominguez climbed down the steps of the aircraft to meet Armand Rothemere. Both were wearing the golden 'Q', the symbol of QUANTUM on their lapels. Dominguez had a plaster across his nose, a reminder of the broken nose Smith had inflicted on him in Oakland, and how he would take out his revenge on her when it came time to kill her. Rothemere and Soref approached the plane. Rothemere was seventy-five years old and not in the best of health due to lung cancer. He gave out a wheezing cough as he as made his way across the tarmac to greet his hosts. _

_ Soref was the first to speak "Good afternoon Michael" He said. "I do hope our trip here is going to be worth it."_

_ "That depends on what you've brought me Moishe," Wolchik said. "A craftsman is only as good as the tools of his trade." _

_"__Just have my money ready yes." Soref replied. _

_"__Good afternoon sir, are you alright do you require assistance." Wolchik said to Mr. Rothemere who spluttered into his handkerchief. _

_"__If I required assistant why the hell would I have brought my bodyguards with me. I want to get down to business at once." he replied. _

_"__As you wish," Wolchik said. "Follow me sir" Rothemere followed Wolchik up the steps, wheezing. His bodyguards attempted to help him up and he shrugged them off him. Whatever it was about him, he always commanded an element of fear amongst those around him. Even in his incapacitated state Wolchik was still afraid of him in the back of his mind. _

_People around him were mainly frightened of the sheer power, influence and bottomless pockets the man had, the kind of power that could kill presidents on a whim. He truly was a master of the universe._

_ They made there way into the interior of the plane, a spacious, luxurious mink-lined cabin that almost resembled the inside of Air Force 1. There were two rows of flight seats, some satin settees and an elegant mahogany desk for Wolchik, lit by a soft lampshade. Rothemere sat down on the settee whilst his two sycophants stood up at either side. He was too gruff to offer them seats. Both of them carried Glock 32's and were not afraid to use them. Soref sat down in the settee opposite._

_If ever there was a man who was a control freak it was Rothemere. His diagnosis was the one thing he couldn't control however. It had gone into remission largely because he had the best doctors in the world all on his personal payroll but he couldn't get out of his penchant for smoking Cohiba Reserva cigars. _

_He naturally had the best comforts and saw the lower classes almost as a separate, inferior race to his kind. Being born into money and with little care for anything else other than his own false sense of security, he used his vast wealth to control everyone lesser than him. People were nothing but pawns on a chessboard that must be ready to do his bidding at all times. Of course, if they didn't cooperate a different fare awaited. When death would be involved, his people handled it discreetly to avoid implications of culpability to him or his family. _

_ This was perhaps the reason why he felt nervous the moment he saw Susan Smith. The Rothemere family had always feared the British Secret Service since the days of World War II when Sir Ian Lancaster Fleming ran a small intelligence office out of Rockefeller Plaza in New York City. It turns out that Fleming was investigating the German American Bund, the Nazi organisation in the United States prior to America's involvement in the war. The Rothemere's and the wealthy families of America that married into their clan were prominent supporters and members of the group. _

_In fact so prominent was the Rothemere involvement in Nazism that the American economy depended on it in many ways. The same oil companies the Allies needed were the same companies that supplied oil to the Luftwaffe. Prominent American banks held Nazi assets as well as their own peoples. Prescott Walker, the current president's grandfather was even in on the act. _

_The only thing the British could do was watch as the events unfolded. They gathered the evidence that unfortunately was largely lost to history and the annals of conspiracy theory because of the Rothemere's power and influence. Even in British circles they were almost untouchable. _

_Since the nineteen century, the mainstream had been concerned with this influence over whole governments. Many Christian conservatives in Britain and America accused the Rothemeres of a Zionist conspiracy to take over the world, and the holy land. Since then there were many bizarre conspiracy theories floating around about them. The Rothemere family were involved in black magic; they regularly communicated with aliens, and were members of the Illuminati, the Freemasons and the Knights Templar. _

_As it turns out there is always a grain of truth in rumours for they were in fact descendants a Templar grand master by the name of Gerard de Ridefort, who was executed by the forces of the Muslim general Saladin in 1189. By then the templars in the space of less than a century had established a massive network of banks and industries throughout the Middle East and Christendom._

_Around the year 1183, de Ridefort became second in command of the Templars and staged a coup of Jerusalem in order to install King Baldwin V as leader. This divided Christian forces and led to infighting amongst the military orders that led to the ultimate loss of the holy land. _

_Two centuries later, King Phillip IV of France purged the Templars and all Christian military orders in the year 1307. He saw the templars as being a shadow government that would one take over the known world under secret leadership. As it turned out, there was truth in the rumours. It was around that time that Clermont de Ridefort was grand master and had begun using his position to embezzle state funds that were supposed to be for various Skirmishes in the kingdom of Seljuk Rum, against Muslim encroachment into orthodox Christian territories. _

_Clermont became greedy and saw power in organised finance. He saw whole kingdoms and kings as doing his bidding, and gave prominent positions of power to his family members. Many within the order thought he was single-minded and he conducted most of his operations in secret. Embezzlement charges were enough to end the order. _

_Clermont took off in a hurry with a substantial horde of assets hidden all over Europe during the purge. He changed his name from de Ridefort to Rothemere in order to avoid detection. He cleverly used assets to set up many businesses, and over the coming centuries, the Rothemere dynasty survived as a merchant class. _

_At some point in the 16__th__ century, the Rothemeres got into the money lending business. The Jewish systems of finance that had sprung up all over Europe during the Middle Ages, influenced the foundation of The House of Rothemere in the late 17__th__ century, the world's first and most powerful merchant banking system. _

_By 1776, things took a more sinister turn with the Rothemere dynasty. A professor of canon law from the city of Ingolstadt, Bavaria named Adam Weisshaupt formed an obscure offshoot of Freemasonry known infamously as the Bavarian Illuminati. Weisshaupt was ejected from the Masons for expressing secular political ideas and he formed his own society. In 1780 Baron Andreas Rothemere, head of the Vienna branch of the Rothemere dynasty joined the Illuminati. He described Weisshaupt as a visionary and a genius and became his protégé. Andreas was attracted to the illuminati Ideals of secularism under a single leadership and unlike the masons, illuminati members were allowed to talk openly about politics and the philosophies of the enlightenment at meetings. _

_Andreas was an atheist and had a profound influence on Weisshaupt's thinking in the latter years of the movement. The Bavarian Duchy forcibly dissolved the Illuminati and deemed them to be a subversive organisation and Weisshaupt went underground into private life._

_The Rothemeres would not easily forget the influence of the Illuminati however. By the nineteenth century they had married into all of the wealthy noble families of Europe. The seeds of Their Idea for world domination came when Lord Charles Rothemere lent money to Cecil Rhodes in the 1880's to form the British colony of Rhodesia. Together they form a secret roundtable group known internally as __Equites sacrum Foiedus __(knights of the sacred covenant, or simply the covenant). Its primary aim was to be the shadow government of the British Empire controlled centrally by the Rothemere clan through a series roundtable groups that would be autonomous and would represent the major business and political aspirations of the empire. _

_This allowed the Rothemeres to spread their interests to every corner of the globe, including marrying into the major American banking dynasties culminating in the foundation of the Federal Reserve in 1913. Today the Covenant control a total of thirteen roundtable groups based on the thirteen degrees of the Bavaria Illuminati, groups that include the Forum For Global Security, (of which the Marathon Corporation is chief advisor), and the less known QUANTUM, specialising in private terrorism and counterintelligence._

_All Covenant__roundtable leaders are direct members of the Rothemere family and they are known in the roundtable circles as the 'Whites' after Adam Weisshaupt. A name which itself has an almost mystical significance. Adam was the first man according to the three Abrahamic religions. Weiss was the German word for White, the colour of purity, and Haupt, the German term denoting a leader of men. This is why the administrator of each roundtable is known by the codename 'Mr. White.' This is done to protect the Rothemeres from being known or recognised by the lesser members of the roundtables and allows each roundtable to act autonomously. _

_Armand Rothemere, the modern day leader of the Covenant now faced an uncomfortable situation with Wolchik's MI6 guest. Wolchik knew that his boss was not going to be in the least bit happy that the two agents that proved to be a thorn in his side for the past two years. James Bond had dealt a blow to the QUANTUM organisation in Bolivia that cost them dearly, and now Susan Smith, another 00 agent was working the case from opposite ends. _

_Wolchik sat at his desk "well sir it truly is an honour to be working with you sir as I have done with your brother."_

_ "Spare your honour Wolchik" Rothemere said in shrill voice "I see you been having problems with British Secret Service again haven't you. I saw her just now."_

_ Wolchik gave a nervous laugh "Not to worry sir. We have her and she will meet a painful death. That I promise you." _

_ "Promises mean little," Rothemere said, giving out another wheezy cough. "You should have killed her long ago. You know we don't tolerate failure Mr Wolchik. We did not bring you in to QUANTUM's inner circle for to amuse yourself."_

_ "No offence sir," Wolchik said. "but you seem to forget that QUANTUM wouldn't be anywhere without the intervention of my company. Just remember, it was our feasibility studies that allowed that Frog asshole Dominic Greene to even contemplate controlling Bolivia's water supply in the first place. That was until he frittered it all away on sleeping with that Bolivian secret service woman, Camille Montes. As understand it from Haines, Smith's colleague James Bond got in on the act. I don't recall you raising any objections then, so before you go preaching to me about tactical exposure sir, you should that that he who is without sin shouldn't cast the first stone." _

_"__Your right," Rothemere added. "But don't you ever talk down at me. Just remember we brought you in to the roundtable as a silent partner. However, if you continue to toy with this British Secret Service woman I wonder if there is a future for you with us at all, because history has a tendency to repeat itself Mr. Wolchik."_

_"__Relax sir, everything is in hand" Wolchik replied. "The fall of Iran is a mathematical certainty and eventually the Russians and the Chinese will capitulate to us. Iran has the biggest agricultural holding and oil revenues in the Middle East, and with the country under our axis the Caucasus and the Muslim world is ours for the taking, depending on how fast you can roll out the cybernation across the world of course. The ball is in your court Mr. White."_

_"__Ah I see," Rothemere said. "the crux of the matter eh. I suppose you didn't call me out here for any other reason other than your payment." _

_"__Quite frankly no sir," Wolchik replied. _

_"__Very well," Rothemere said, and turned to one of his bodyguards. "Transfer the funding from our Caracas holdings to Mr. Wolchik's Cayman Islands bank account." Several minutes later Wolchik got out his laptop computer, brought it to life and accessed his online account. A sum of money to the value of $100m suddenly appeared on the credit column from investment house Brown & Mortimer, a hedge fund controlled by the Rothemeres that made money off Iran's defrosted foreign exchange assets. _

_ "This'll do nicely" Wolchik said. "And now Mr. Soref if you could give me the authorisation codes for the Iron Dome system." _

_ "As requested," Soref said. "You have no idea the strings I had to pull with the IDF to get these, now about my payment." he said as handed Wolchik an envelope with them written down on a piece of paper. _

_ "I sympathize," Wolchik said as he opened the envelope and inspected the codes inside. _

_"__Very good," he said. "But there's a change in plan."_

_ "Oh, what?" Soref replied. _

_"__You see I'm not going the slow down the system, I'm going to crash it with a virus we designed especially for the job." Wolchik said. "the target is Haifa. The missile should be quite effective there."_

_ "But you said no one would get hurt, and for all of my dealing for our organisation those are still my people down there." _

_ "yeah, you see I lied Soref. That's the price you pay for protecting the land of our lord, besides, a few less Jews in the world wouldn't go amiss, in my book anyway; am I right Mr. Dominguez?"_

_ "Bastard," Soref said as he attempted to make a go for Wolchik. Dominguez caught him from behind, pulled out a Bowie knife and slit him across the throat. Soref choked and spluttered as he bled out of the neck, collapsing onto the ground in a heap of death. _

_ "I'm sorry you had to witness that sir," Wolchik said "but according to our guy inside British Intelligence they've got Khoury. It's only a matter of time before they got to Soref."_

_ "Then it's likely they'll send James Bond to go after __Flaming Sword. __We have to stop him." Rothemere replied_

_"__Don't worry sir, by the time he get's there it'll be too late and anyway we have some friends in Iranian Intel, nothing will go wrong I assure you." _

_ "Let us hope not Mr. Wolchik. Good day" Rothemere said as he rose from his seat. _

_"__The future is ours," Wolchik replied, a standard way of saying goodbye in 13 roundtables of the covenant once a meeting was completed. _

_ Rothemere muttered something that sounded like a response under his breath and got his two bodyguards to escort him off the plane. _

_ Wolchik got up off his seat, got out his Walkie Talkie and contacted his men. "Bring Smith here," He said. The man on the other end of the line replied obediently. _

_ "Oh thank Christ White is gone," Wolchik said. "Seventy years and in poor health and the old bastard still gives me the creeps."_

_ "Indeed sir," Dominguez replied. "You handled him well. All I know is that I'll look forward axing Smith personally," _

_"__Patience my young Jedi" Wolchik replied. "First things first, have someone clean up that god awful mess," He said, pointing to Soref's body. _

_Several minutes later the gaurds brought Smith out of the office with her hands bound in front of her with handcuffs. She saw the bloodstained body of Moishe Soref being dragged off the plane by two gaurds. They gave no more thought or respect for the dead man and carried his body as if it was a carcass of meat freshly slaughtered in an abattoir._

_ Smith was led up the steps and into the aircraft cabin. "We found this on her sir," the guard said, handing Wolchik the limpet mine. "and this gold pen. It appears to be a remote control device for setting it off." _

_ "Well say the pen is mightier than the sword." Smith said._

_"__I was never one for clichés 005," Wolchik said. "Thank you gentlemen, you can leave us." The guards left. _

_ "So 00 nothing your still alive," Wolchik said_

_"__Aren't you pleased?" Smith replied. _

_ "Not quite Smith but Dominguez here is, because I'm going to give him the pleasure of killing your sorry ass, and this time it's going to stick."_

_ "Ooh I'm scared," Smith said. _

_"__you should be," Dominguez said. "There's a hell of a view from 10,000 feet. You're going skydiving without a parachute. I hope you like swimming bitch, coz your going to end up in the bottom of the pacific."_

_ "Well isn't it just your luck that I'm an avid swimmer." Smith replied. _

_"__But oh I forgot," Wolchik interjected. " we're going over the Baja peninsula in to Mexico so looks like it's going to be a hard landing, oh well, give the job to some little spic to pick up your body parts, stop him from coming into our country to find work you know." _

_ "You really love foreigners don't you Mr. Ku Klux," Smith said to Wolchik "Tell me what did Moishe Soref do to deserve you." _

_"__A little internal affair that doesn't really involve you 005," Wolchik replied._

_"__Involving Armand Rothemere?" Smith asked. "Don't you know that your days are numbered Wolchik and when we find out all about you it's going to be the shit storm of all time?"_

_ "__Well you needn't concern yourself with that 005, all you need know is that when this plane is airborne you're going to meet your maker."_

_"__I'll be sure to but in a good word for you in hell Wolchik," Smith replied. _

_The pilot of the aircraft emerged from the cockpit through the door into Wolchik's office. _

_ "We're ready to take off sir," he said._

_"__Good captain," he said. "Commence forthwith." _

_ "Have a seat my dear, it may be the last bit of comfort you'll ever have." Wolchik said. _

_Susan smiled wincingly and sat down and strapped herself, commanded by the oppressive sight of Dominguez' gun pointed at her. Wolchik and Dominguez sat down on strapped themselves in as the plane taxied across the runway. Smith observed as Dominguez stuff his pistol down the waste line of his pants. She wonder if there could be a possible avenue to take advantage of it in the future as a means of salvation. For now she would just go with the flow and see how things would pan out._

_ The plane jet engines fired up and the Smith felt the vibrations of the plane as steadily increased in speed down the runway before lifting off into the air. One thousand feet, one thousand five hundred, two thousand; the plane banked and turned south east in the direction of Mexico. After making it's turn the plane steadily climbed; three thousand, four thousand, five thousand, six thousand feet. Smith could feel that awful feeling of adrenaline as she felt helpless strapped to the chair: nine thousand, ten thousand, eleven thousand, twelve thousand, thirteen thousand, fourteen thousand, and finally, at fifteen thousand feet the plane went into cruise altitude. Dominguez got up off his went over to Smith. _

_ "Up!" he said, and Smith arose. Wolchik went over to his desk and accessed the cybernation software on his computer. _

_ "I want you to witness this Smith," he said "you are about the see the greatest coup of all time enfold before your very eyes. I want you to see this because before Dominguez ejects your sorry ass out through the loading doors, I'll have the added pleasure of sending you to you're death knowing that you'll failed. Nobody will shed a tear. I on the other hand am going to be sunning myself on a beach in Cancun until this whole thing blows over."_

_ "You really think people are going to be dumb enough to believe that Wolchik."_

_"__Of course, because people are dumb anyway no matter what way you slice it. There'll be a lot of sabres rattling, a lot of cheap tough talk, but at the end of the day people will want peace and end up $100m better off. Either way we always win 005."_

_ "well enjoy it while it lasts Wolchik because we're quick learner and your days are numbered."_

_"__I'm not the one whose about to die," Wolchik replied looking down at his computer screen. "Oh look," he said. "five seconds till missile launch, guess you missed the boat lieutenant."_

_ The numbers counted down on the screen; ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, lift off…and nothing happened. _

_ "Wha…What's happening. What's happening?" Wolchik exclaimed. _

_"__007" Smith muttered under her breath with a smile on her face that only enraged Wolchik further. _

_ "What did you say!" he exclaimed. _

_"__Three words Wolchik, Bond, James Bond." She elbow Dominguez into the nose again, took his gun and wrapped her arm around one of the seat belts, holding on to it. "Kill her!" Wolchik said. Dominguez was about to make a go for her with his bowie knife when she emptied two round purposefully into the fuselage. _

_ The air from the outside hissed through the bullet holes and the cabin depressurized. The fuselage was ripped open and Dominguez was sucked out instantly through the gaping orifice. His arms flailed uncontrollably in the air and he let out a horrified scream, and he was no more. _

_ Wolchik held on tight to the desk as the plane stalled and took a nosedive. The plane dived for at least a thousand feet until the pilot stabilised it. The minute the plane was stable Smith pointed her handgun in an attempt to shoot Wolchik but he caught the laptop and flung it at her. She put her hand up to deflect it and it knocked the gun out of her hand. _

_ Wolchik and Smith exchanged blows, sidekicks, and one of his punches landed in her face. She instantly toppled to the floor where he stomped on her stomach and reach down, putting his hands around her neck to choke her to death. She could feel him squeezing the life out of her but she didn't panic, and with she joined her hands as if in prayer position, and pushed them up in the space between his arms. This caused him to loosen his choking grip. _

_She grabbed his face and pressed in to his eyeballs with her thumbs as hard as she could. In fact, she pressed so hard that her bloodied lips receded to reveal her clenched teeth in a grimace of pain. _

_Wolchik squealed and let go. Blinded temporarily he receive a full force kick into the face from Smith that sent him topple backwards. She got the gun and shot him twice, once in both shoulders, each one retribution for Anna and Landers. Amidst the obvious pain he experienced in his body, Wolchik laughed. _

_"__You can kill me but you've stopped nothing. We always win." _

_Smith paused, seeing her pen on the table. She grabbed it. _

_ "I'm not going to kill you," She said, "I'm going to kiss you; because that's what your sister Paula would have wanted, for you to be happy."_

_ "You filth," he shouted. "Don't you dare mention her name?" _

_She moved in and gave him a great wet bloodied kiss on the mouth. She got the pen, clicked three times as Q instructed and injected the deadly serum into the back of his neck as she kissed him. He recoiled and she looked at him squarely. _

_ "Now Jesus will know you kissed a gay," She said and pressed the button on the pen. His body went into an uncontrollable spasm as the Sarin took effect. A mixture of blood and saliva emanated from his mouth as he involuntarily bit down on his tongue. He urinated in his pants as he painfully writhed on the ground and after a minute of agony he finally succumbed to death, the nightmare over; Michael Wolchik was finally gone to his maker. _

_ Smith took a moment to gather herself and sat down in the gusty cabin. She wiped the blood off her lip and proceeded to the pilot's cabin. She opened the door and entered. _

_ "What the hell is going on back there," the pilot said, oblivious to her presence. She pointed the gun at his temple. "Never mind," she said. "Get on the radio and tune it to San Diego Coast Guard 450 MHz; do it." Smith had obviously prearranged this beforehand. _

_ "Do it." He said to the flight engineer, who obeyed. _

_"__Ma'am are you there, it's Smith reporting as ordered." _

_"__Smith where are you?" M said. _

_"__On Wolchik's private plane Ma'am, The enemy has been neutralised, heading for back to San Diego," Smith replied. _

_ "What's going on up there?" M said _

_"__It'll all be in my report ma'am, Suffice is to say it's going to be a long report." Smith replied. _


	19. Chapter 19

_CHAPTER 19_

_Heads Will Roll_

_Susan Smith and M sat silently in Gareth Mallory's office in Whitehall and waited. It's not everyday an agent gets called in front of the director of the intelligence oversight committee unless it's serious and you could hear a pin drop in the room. _

_ The door opened and Mallory appeared in the office. "Good day ladies," he said, "Thank you for coming down on such short notice. May I offer anyone a drink before I start," Mallory asked. M declined. _

_ "I'd love one sir," Smith said. _

_"__Scotch 005,"_

_ "Yes sir," Smith said, and he went for the Waterford Crystal decanter, poured out two glasses and handed one to Smith. It was the nicest twenty-year old Glenfiddich single malt she'd ever tasted, a bittersweet taste, given the fact of what was going to come down the line in the meeting. _

_ "By the way I wish to congratulate you for your work in eliminating the __Flaming Sword __threat M and you 005 for exposing Michael Wolchik. Your country owes you debt; in fact, we owe both of you a debt for your valiant efforts. " Mallory said as he sat down opposite them. _

_ "Thank you Mallory," M said. "But my I ask you why the QUANTUM investigation has been temporarily halted." _

_"__I take it you've read the news, Marathon Corporation has a new board of directors. The US House of Representatives have hauled them up based on our evidence. However, the PM is not happy. Apparently, they are taking case against our government over the death of Anna Amore, unlawful use of force they're calling it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to suspend you from active duty until this is ironed out Leftenant Smith." _

_ "What!" Smith exclaimed _

_"__You can't be serious sir," M said "we should be chasing after the Rothemeres; if we can get to them we can get to the cartel." _

_ "There's no evidence of that, yet." Mallory said. "Even though we may have crippled __Flaming Sword __we still have no direct evidence of Rothemere involvement and that's something the PM doesn't want to go into right now in a time of economic crisis." _

_"__Then let's stop hiding behind the political correctness and give my office more powers to deal with them instead of punishing my agents," M said. _

_ "You and I know that's not how our game works," Mallory said. "Despite everything the 00 section is and does, we are still ultimately accountable to a democratic system."_

_ "So basically what you're trying to say is that I'm to be used as a patsy, would I be correct in assuming so Colonel." Smith said. _

_ "I didn't say that 005," Mallory replied, "what I am saying is that one of Marathon's executive was killed and you were seen on CCTV. The inquiry is naturally going to want to hear your side of the story"_

_ "I had nothing to do with Amore's death sir," Smith protested. "Why are we even having this conversation? We know that Wolchik was dirty, can't we at the very least make some indictments against their people?"_

_"__I am well aware Marathon is unclean 005. However, dealing with the QUANTUM cartel is difficult. Then there's also the unfinished business about Alan Landers, which thankfully has little connection to us for the moment. The fact that you were in San Francisco and was an ex lover of his is sparking a certain element of suspicion amongst our American cousins. The PM is concerned about Anglo-American relations when it comes to intelligence sharing between or two countries. The fact that a legal challenge they're bringing against us could harm matters. I have to be seen to be doing something about it." _

_Mallory took a sip from his scotch. He smiled sympathetically at Smith._

_ "Take a few weeks off Susan, you deserve it," he said, "You may be asked to give evidence as witness. You'll have to turn over your weapon and notify the foreign office if you wish to travel. I'm afraid that's all for the moment." _

_ "It's touching that you actually care about my safety sir," She replied. _

_"__Actually I do 005, sarcasm aside." _

_ "Oh come off it Colonel. I'm just a convenient asset to you people and you know it, so why don't you admit it." _

_ "What are you trying to say 005," He said. _

_"__I'm saying I risk life and limb to try and save the world and all my bosses want to do is save face. I'm out of here." Smith said, and with that, she floored her Scotch, plonked the glass on Mallory's desk and went to leave. _

_ "Come back here 005," M exclaimed._

_"__I'm on suspension ma'am, remember. What I do in my own time is my own business, Good day." She said and exited the office. _

_ "I'm beginning to think it was a mistake to bring her into the service," M said to Mallory. _

_"__You shouldn't," Mallory replied, "She's one of our best agents," _

_ "You know what, you're right," She replied. _

_Smith exited out on to the street where James Bond was standing waiting by the steps of the building. He was smartly dressed in his tailored suit and waistcoat courtesy of Anderson and Sheppard on Saville Row. He had his blonde hair neatly cut and he groomed himself well for his meeting with Mallory. However as it was Bond, when women were involved there was always an ulterior motive. _

_ "So how did it go in there?" He said. _

_"__Need you ask?" Smith replied. "They placed me on suspension, indefinitely, until case with Marathon blows over." _

_ "Try not to think about it. It's just the politicians looking for a scapegoat. They can't afford to get rid of you, your one of our best agents. Besides what evidence could they possibly have against you? You've weathered tougher storms than this." _

_ "Thanks for the vote of confidence Bond, but I'm not sure they see it that way. They think my involvement makes the service look bad," She said. "I mean I can't believe they're kicking up a fuss over some CCTV footage. We should be going after these bastards not cajoling them… anyway your looking pretty dapper today 007, what's the big occasion, despite getting grilled by M and Mallory?" _

_ "In life there's always an occasion to look your best. I was hoping we could get to together for drinks tonight." _

_ "Ah the crux of the matter," Smith replied. "I thought I would have dropped you a hint about that already." _

_ "I'm slow to pick up, and besides you could use a couple after what you've been through." Bond said. _

_ "You know what, you're right Bond, why the hell not." She replied. _

_"__Good, then I'll meet you at Duke's bar at six after I've finished here," Bond said. _

_He disappeared inside and she smiled and carried on up the street. Bond and Smith had a complicated relationship since they met. At first when she met him, she had heard of his womanising and mistrusted him. At the same them strangely enough, she warmed to him. He was a good agent, he had charm but wasn't sleazy about it, and when he was around her he knew how to play her in a way that could easily get himself out of the friend zone. _

_Still given the nefariousness of their profession, she decided it would be best not to sleep with him and he respected that, which made her even more of a challenge. He understood and opened to her sexuality. She was not just another of his disposable conquests, she was something more special. Even though secretly he wanted to mount her with all of his manhood, he could see himself wanting more, a meaningful relationship perhaps. Strangely enough, she saw the same, but for now, they were just colleagues and platonic friends. _

_ A half an hour later Smith made her way to the exclusive bar on St James Street. Bond certainly knew how to treat a girl. £17 a drink, forest green velvet lined chairs, and a bartender clad in elegant white suit was no easy feat to accomplish even on a 00's salary. Still, she wasn't complaining and could see why he brought her here. They just so happened to serve the best martini in London by adding the oil wrung from the peels of lemons straight from the sundrenched Amalfi coast of Southern Italy. _

_ Bond arrived promptly at six. "Ah there you are Susan, so what do you think?" _

_"__Swanky," She said. _

_ "My I tempt you to try out a cocktail, turquoise blue perhaps," _

_ "Ceurvo gold will do me fine thanks," Smith replied._

_ "Hmm looks like this is going to be a long night," Bond said_

_ "It appears I have plenty time Bond, besides, what the hell else am I gonna do with my danger money." She replied. _

_"__My usual please Bronson and a Cuervo for the lady," _

_"__Yes Mr. Bond," the barman said. _

_About two hours passed and Susan was well on her way to tanking up on expensive tequila. "Barman another round please," she said casually as sat in a secluded corner of the bar._

_ "Don't you think you think you should ease up a little," Bond said. _

_ "Having problems keeping up Mr. Bond, that's not like you." _

_ "Not really, it's just I wasn't expecting this evening to be a contest." _

_ "Ooh the gentleman lightweight eh. Well you can't get a girl all sauced up for action and not follow through."_

_ "Following through I usually don't have a problem with. It's just…never mind." _

_Bond looked briefly into his glass and recollected his time with Vesper Lynd; the woman he had given his heart to her during the Casino Royale affair in Montenegro. He wanted Smith at that moment. She was there for the taking at that point, but in his mind, he asked him himself if he could bring himself down the road of a relationship with another self-destructive woman. Smith felt the same way about Bond as he did about her and wondered could she really throw what they had away on some cheap sex without getting to the heart of the man. The Bartender came around to the table with a round of drinks and left. _

_ "What is that?" She asked of Bonds drink._

_"__It's a Vesper; two measure of Kine Lillet, one measure of vodka, one of Gordon's, Shaken over ice and with a thin slice of lemon, with the oil of course." _

_ "Vesper eh, Sounds exotic, another one of your lady friends?" _

_"__Yes, but that was a long time ago?" _

_ "What happened?" _

_ "She…Do we really have to talk about this?" _

_ "I see," Smith replied, "Do you miss her." _

_ "Yes, I do, but I don't really like talking about it. Not right now. I'd much rather talk about you," He said _

_ "Nothing much to tell really, I was in love and it got me into trouble and that how I ended up here. It's funny isn't it we both in the same business and yet we can't talk to each other about it."_

_ "So do you miss her," Bond said _

_ "Yeah," Smith said, "Sarah brought me out. She helped me come to terms with my true self. I've never felt so liberated in all my life. It's just that we live in a world that doesn't understand us because we're different and we made a mistake, and so they crucified us because of it…But it's all good, I didn't turn out so bad. Although I wish, I could say the same thing about her."_

_ "Do you want to get out of here?" Bond said. "You know it's time to leave when the conversation goes way down." _

_ "I agree, but before we go I want to raise a toast; to the intelligence business, the cause of and solution to, all the world's problems." _

_ "Here, here" Bond replied. They knocked their glasses together and with that, she sprinkled a line of salt onto the back of her hand, sucked on it, drank back to tequila shot and bit into the flesh of the succulent lemon. Bond floored his Martini and they grabbed their coats and exited out on to the streets to hail a cab. _

_ "Where would you like to go next?" Bond said as they climbed in. _

_"__Home, I think," Susan said, and the cab took off in the direction of Kennington Road. Several minutes later the cab stopped off outside Smith's apartment block. _

_ "Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else," Bond said. "The night is still young," _

_"__Nah," Smith replied, "I think I have enough action for a while. Might just relax and get a quiet night tonight."_

_"__I could come in for a night cap," Bond said. _

_Smith turned to look at him and their eyes caught each other in an enamoured gaze. "It's tempting, believe me," She said, "but are we going to feel the same way in the morning." _

_ "You're right," Bond said "let's not do anything hasty." _

_"__Goodnight 007" She said as she stroked his face and gave him a brief kiss on the lips. _

_ "Goodnight 005," He replied, reciprocating the kiss and she exited the cab closing the door behind her. She turned and smiled back at him as she made her way to the front door, and then he gave the order to the cabbie to drive off. _

_"__Good night 005," he muttered to himself, "for now." _

_Two months later on a lonely isolated pier in the Bay of Naples in the dead of night, two cars pulled up alongside each other. One was Skoda Octavia 2008 model, belonging to Kenneth Osborne, the assistant director of Britain's Intelligence oversight committee, supposedly on holiday. The other was a classy Jaguar XJ that looked liked it was the ride of a government minister. Its rear tinted passenger window rolled down to reveal the wrinkled oblong face of Salazar Rothemere III, the Mr White of QUANTUM. _

_Despite the fact that he was now the most wanted men in the world after the Wolchik affair he still made it a point to meet Osborne personally. His family still had influence. However, that influence was beginning to wane fast as the allies were nudging closer with each case. It was only a matter of time before the MI6 exposed the Covenant, so whatever they had planned next to unleash on the world, they had to move faster. _

_Osborne rolled down his own window in response and a pair of piercing bespectacled brown eyes looked back at his QUANTUM boss. _

_"__Good evening Mr. White, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Osborne said. _

_"__First things first," he said, in his soft, high pitch voice, "What is the status with Susan Smith, and how do you plan to get the 00 section off our backs." _

_ "Don't worry sir everything is arranged. We think we have enough evidence to convict Smith of the murder of Anna Amore. We also think we can get her to answer for the murder of Alan Landers. If we can convict her it will be enough for the Americans to extradite her to faces charges."_

_ "And what makes you so sure she'll break," Rothemere said_

_"__We plan to expose the fact that MI6 have been spying on the Americans in the press ," Osborne said "We have a few deep throats that are willing to leak some decrypted American documents that MI6 procured under Operation Jamestown, particularly the ones pertaining to Landers investigation and the files she stole. She'll be the ultimate scapegoat in the scandal. The 00's are the most secret section within MI6, and if the foreign secretary we're to find out that they were spying on our cousins he would definitely move to suspend their activities, to save face sir of course." _

_ "And what of Bond," Rothemere asked_

_ "Missing in action in Turkey, presumed dead sir," Osborne replied_

_ "Excellent Osborne, you've done well for us. Any scandal is a good one and MI6's difficulty right now is our opportunity. Nothing must get in the way of Plan Scorpion. I take it you've ironed out a deal with our Irish Republican friend McBrearty." _

_ "Yes sir, he's agreed to help us in exchange for all of our intelligence on the dissident's sir." _

_ "Then It appears the wheels are set in motion, let's hope we don't have to meet like this again," Rothemere said_

_"__The future is ours Sir," Osborne said_

_"__The Future is ours Mr Osborne," and with that, Mr White rolled up the window and his car took off into the dead of night._

_. _

_The End of_

_Susan Smith 005: A Deal With The Devil _

_By _

_N.J. Egan_

_But Susan Smith Will Return _

_In _

_The Scorpion Agenda_


End file.
